


A Hero's Return

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Erotica, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2008-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The war is over, Voldemort is defeated, and just when the Wizarding World thinks they have nothing more to celebrate, a hero they thought was gone forever returns home.  This story was started before the release of HBP and is now AU.





	1. Ch 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

The torches on the dungeon wall flickered, dimly lighting the ancient stairwell. David Patil watched as water dripped down the moldy walls, and shuddered. He'd been in places far more grim than this, but something about this particular dungeon made him nervous. It was a natural instinct that made him want to turn around and walk the other way, but two years of war had forced him to focus on the job at hand and he continued to walk down the stairs. 

 

"Where are you going, David? There's no one down there." 

 

David stopped and looked up at his friend John, shrugging. "Weren't we ordered to search the place?" 

 

John sighed, tucking his wand into his pocket. He looked like he wanted to lean against the wall, but grimaced and thought better of it. "This place looks like it's been abandoned for weeks. . . The Death Eaters probably took off when they found out You Know Who had lost." 

 

"He's dead now, you can call him Voldemort." 

 

"You can call him that if you want to. . . But I'm not. . . I don't have to do everything Sir Potter says." 

 

David narrowed his eyes at John, feeling the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. "Show a little respect, John! It's because of him you're going home!" 

 

John had the decency to looked ashamed as he ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "I know. . . It's just. . . I'm hungry. Why don't we go back to camp? There's no one down there, I'm telling you." 

 

"You go. . .I'll be back soon. I just want to check," David said, looking back down the stairwell. "Something's telling me to go." 

 

"Seeing signs now, are you?" John chuckled at his own joke. "You've been spending too much time with that sister of yours." 

 

"Mmm hmm," David hummed, walking back down the stairwell, not bothering to mention that he hadn't seen either of his sisters in nearly a year. "Go. . .Save some food for me before the other chaps eat it all." 

 

"If you're sure," John said, requiring no further prodding. "But don't take long. The Major will start to worry about you." 

 

David waved him off, his voice echoing down the stairwell as he walked deeper into the dungeon. "I won't." 

 

He heard John's footsteps drift farther up the stairs as he finally stepped off the bottom stair. He lit his wand, illuminating the pitch black hallway. He was relieved to see that there weren't many cells, just a single line of them across one wall. He'd been in some dungeons that had taken hours to search. The Malfoy dungeon had taken a team of them an entire day to go through, but like this one, it had been a wasted effort. Death Eaters usually killed their prisoners once they grew tired of them. 

 

He stuck his wand through the bars of one cell after another, seeing nothing but straw and stone floors. He should have listened to John, he supposed, because he was bloody hungry. The closer their unit got to home, the more anxious he was to see his family and he hated the constant stops for one useless mission after another. 

 

Still, he understood that they couldn't become too lax in their celebrations that they let rogue Death Eaters slip through the cracks. Just one could cause devastation. They'd all learned that. 

 

He was already thinking about dinner and his bed as the narrow beam of light from his wand illuminated the final cell. David did a double take when he spotted something. He pressed his face against the bars and pointed his wand at the lump in the corner. 

 

"Bloody hell!" he gasped, recognizing that lump as a body. "John!" 

 

His yells bounced off the walls, reaching no one's ears but his own. John was long gone. David shuddered, knowing without a doubt that what he was looking at wasn't a Death Eater. This was one of their own. Even from across the room, his keen eye recognized the tattered Phoenix emblem on the robes. He hadn't been Seeker on his house's team for nothing. He'd rather it be a Death Eater. He wasn't up for recovering the body of a fallen comrade. 

 

That was one thing that he would never get used to, no matter how long he fought. He tried not to think about how the man had died, though he knew he'd probably starved to death after the Death Eaters who camped here had fled. What an awful way to die. Trapped in a cell with no food or water, knowing that your captors had left you there to rot. 

 

He was cursing himself for listening to his gut as he tried an unlocking charm on the cell. To his surprise, the door swung open. Usually there were stronger charms on the doors, but he wasn't going to complain. He covered his mouth with his shirt to block the putrid smell in the cell and hesitantly walked towards the body. He refused to pause as he bent down and turned him over. It could have just as easily been him lying in this cell, or one of his friends. This man had a family somewhere and deserved respect. 

 

He stared at the man in surprise when he noticed that he wasn't stiff or cold. Long hair hung to his shoulders, his long frame was beyond dirty, and his face wouldn't be recognizable under the filth and long beard, but David knew a live person when he saw one. He gently shook his shoulder, completely stunned. It was inconceivable that anyone could survive in these conditions. 

 

When he didn't get a response, David did check his pulse, placing two fingers against a limp wrist. There was a faint beat and he marveled again. "Hey, mate, wake up." 

 

He shook the man again with no response, and decided that time was of the essence. If this bloke had survived this long, David wasn't going to let him die now that he'd been found. He used a levitation charm to lift the body, and it took real concentration to get him out of the dungeon and up the stairs, because the chap was extremely tall. His long arms dangled to the side, his hands brushing against the grass as David walked as fast as he could back to the camp with him. 

 

When he reached shouting distance, he started calling out for help. The scouts on the edge of his camp quickly rushed to his aid, and it wasn't long before the man had been taken to the Hospital tent. 

 

Afterwards, David found himself too shaken to even bother looking for the meal John had promised to save for him. Instead, he hovered around the flaps to the Hospital tent, not too politely brushing off the questions of the other lads about the man he'd brought in. It was no small miracle, finding a survivor. It didn't happen often, but David tried not to get his hopes. The bloke hadn't looked very good, and it was likely he could still die. 

 

In a way, it'd almost be worse for him to die after they found him, rather than in the cell. 

 

"Good job, David." David started and turned around, the retort dying on his tongue when he saw it was the major coming out of the Hospital tent. 

 

"Is he okay, sir? Will he live?" 

 

"He's in bad shape, but I think he'll live. . . The healers are all very hopeful," Major Dargen said, giving David a rare smile. "Just when we thought we couldn't have anymore to celebrate about. . .You go and give us another miracle." 

 

"Did. . .did you get his name? I forgot to check," David said, feeling guilty. He'd been wondering about the man's identity for the past hour that he'd been waiting. 

 

"Creevey." Major Dargen pulled a set of silver dog tags out of his pocket, looking at the inscriptions on them. "Colin Creevey. . . These tags come in handy, lucky he still had them. Bloody brilliant of Potter to think of them, don't you think?" 

 

"Very brilliant," David nodded, and hesitated. "Do you think that I might contact his family? That name sounds familiar. . . I think I might have gone to school with him." 

 

"No, no, it says here that he was born in eighty-two. . .He'd have been gone before you got to Hogwarts." 

 

"Oh, my sisters must have known him," David said, reaching out and taking the dog tags when the major handed them to him. He flipped them over and stared at the lion on the back. "Yeah, Gryffindor. . .My sister Parvati was in that house." 

 

He ran his thumb over the lion thoughtfully. Knowing that he was from Hogwarts only compounded David's amazement that he'd been able to find him alive. It brought his survival even closer to home. It wasn't that odd; many of the soldiers had gone to Hogwarts, but others hadn't. The man, Colin, could have just as easily been from do you mean Beauxbatons, or one of the American Academies. David knew he was just clinging to the little bits of familiarity he could, but he couldn't help it. 

 

He looked up at the major. "Can I see him?" 

 

"No, David, let him rest. . . Go eat and you can see him in the morning. The healers said he should be awake by then." 

 

The major smiled when David's shoulders fell. "If you need to feel useful, you can write the letter to his family. I'll have it sent out first thing tomorrow." 

 

"They'll be happy to see him." David looked at the lion again, wondering if this man had been his sister's friend. "How long now, do you think, sir? Shouldn't we be home soon?" 

 

"I think we may wait another day before we pack up camp, let our man Creevey rest. We'll still reach London by Monday." The major rubbed a hand over his face, looking back at the hospital tent once more. "Damn, but I miss Apparating." 

 

"Won't they start taking down all the wards now that the war is over?" 

 

"It's going to take a while, months even, before it's safe. . .I wonder if any of us will even know how to do it after so long." 

 

David bit his lip, hating to mention that he'd never even attempted Apparating. The wards had been up long before he'd reached legal age. He supposed it was something he'd have to learn once he got home. 

 

"Go eat, David. . . You look dead tired." 

 

David nodded, clasping the dog tags in his hand. "Can I keep these? I'll give him back to. . .to Colin tomorrow." 

 

"Sounds good." The major nodded, looking at him for a long moment. "You did real good, David. . . Your parents will be proud." 

 

David blushed, pocketing the tags. "Thanks."


	2. Ch2

The sun had barely risen, casting a pink glow over the sky, and David was already pacing in front of the Hospital tent. Most of their unit was still asleep, enjoying the rare luxury of sleeping in now that the war was over and the threat of attack was minimal. Only a skeleton crew were littered around the camp, drinking tea and talking with their friends.

The atmosphere was relaxed and merry, so very different to what it was like a few weeks ago, before Harry Potter had ended the misery of war for all of them. But David wasn't enjoying the gaiety this morning. He really wanted to see Creevey. He'd spent all night in his tent thinking about him, and he'd barely slept because of it.

When no one had walked out, he lifted the flap and peeked into the tent, seeing the rows of beds, but no Creevey.

"David!"

David jumped and whirled around, staring at the pretty blonde nurse who had snuck up behind him. He smiled, blushing slightly and hating himself for doing so. For some reason, she always managed to get that reaction out of him.

"Gabrielle, hi. . . I was just. . ."

"It is okay, David." She smiled, showing even white teeth as she tucked a stray strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "I waz expecting you."

"Oh yeah?" He smiled, finding that he'd nearly forgotten why he was there. Gabrielle really was beautiful and her French accent, though toned down after years of traveling with a British unit, was still pronounced enough to be alluring. "I was just looking for. . ."

"Come, come. . . " She grabbed his arm, pulling him further into the tent. "I 'ave him over 'ere. . . Nice and private, since 'e needed 'is rest."

He trailed after Gabrielle past the beds, feeling a bit like a lost puppy. She pulled back a curtain in the corner, revealing the man he had rescued yesterday. He gasped out loud when he saw him now clean and sleeping peacefully. Though his back was to him, the man still appeared to look very different to the one he had brought in the night before, and David was more than surprised as he stared at the shock of red hair and freckled bare shoulders of the man on the cot.

"His hair. . ."

"It waz all dirty," Gabrielle said, smiling angelically at the sleeping redhead. "I 'ad to wash it."

"You cut it too."

"It waz all tangled. It waz the only way I could get it clean." She reached out and fingered a lock at the back of Creevey's neck, and David felt the tiniest surge of jealousy as she sighed wistfully. "Such a pretty color. . . My sister dated a man with zis color 'air once."

"Yeah?" he said, finding himself hanging on her every word like he always did.

"It waz a long time ago, but I still remember. . .I 'ad the wors' crush on 'im." She turned back to David, smiling again and making his heart hurt a little. "And guess hoo it waz?"

"Who?

"Bill Weasley. . . funny, yes?"

"Really?" David said, impressed. "Well, I guess if she is as pretty as you. . .I can see why she'd date a Weasley."

"Oh David." She smacked his chest lightly. "You are too sweet." She turned back to Creevey, fingering a strand of his hair again, suddenly thoughtful. "You know, David. . . Zis man, I don't zink. . ."

"What is it?" David felt his heart clench as he stared at Creevey, who was covered to the waist with a sheet, and sleeping on his side. David could see the crisscrossed scars of beatings that seemed to cover every inch of his back, and again he wondered if perhaps he might not live. "He's not going to die, is he. . .Not now. . ."

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "'E is very strong. . .'E will live. It's just. . .'E looks familiar."

"He went to Hogwarts. . . You couldn't have. . ."

"I know. . ." She bit at her lip, hesitating before she turned big blue eyes on David. "I don't zink 'e is Colin Creevey. . . I think 'e might be. . ."

"He had his dog tags on him."

Gabrielle stepped closer to him, invading his private space. "David, can I trust you?"

"Of course," David said, swallowing hard and looking back at Creevey as he moaned, and shifted in his sleep. "What is it?"

Gabrielle swallowed hard, hesitating for just a second before the words bust out of her in a whisper. "I don't think 'e's Creevey. . .I think 'e might be Ron Weasley."

"What?!"

Gabrielle hit his arm. "Shh, David. . ."

"Ron Weasley's dead," David said, feeling his heart rate pick up in panic as he stared back at the man, taking in the red hair that even he had to admit was Weasley red. "He's been dead for a long time."

"I know zat." Gabrielle bit her lip, looking like she might cry. "But David, 'e 'as been saying zings in his sleep. . . Calling out for 'Arry."

"Lots of blokes are named Harry."

She reached out, touching the man's shoulder. "'E is Ron Weasley. I know it. . .I met 'im once a long time ago. I know what 'e looks like."

David stared at her, knowing that her beauty was affecting his judgment, so he stepped away from her to think more clearly. He walked around the bed, peering at the man's face for the first time. Gabrielle hadn't only given him a haircut; she'd also shaved him. It had been a long time since he'd seen a picture of Ron Weasley, but David had a good memory and he had to admit that Gabrielle had a point ... the resemblance was striking. There was a scar through one red eyebrow, and another along his jaw line. He had the bone weary look of someone who'd been starved and beaten for a very long time, and he was certainly older looking than any photograph he'd seen in the papers, but there was no mistaking it -- he could be Ronald Weasley's twin.

"He's a spy," David said, jerking up and pulling out his wand. "Go get the Major."

"No, no, David. . .'E iz not a spy." Gabrielle jumped in front of the man protectively. "'E is the real Ron Weasley. . .I know it."

"The real Ron Weasley is dead and buried. It's a trick." David felt like he might be sick; only the lowest form of human being would impersonate a fallen hero like Ron Weasley. The whole wizarding world had suffered when he'd died. Not to mention his family, his friends, Harry Potter. . . David pushed at the man harder than he normally would, but he couldn't help himself. He probably wasn't even sick.

The impersonator moaned, shifting in his sleep and David peered closer at him, hoping he'd wake up so he could question him. He nearly lost his footing when a hand shot out and grabbed his robes, fisting them tightly and jerking him forward.

David found himself staring at sharp, blue eyes that were narrowed. They darted around the Hospital tent once, and then came back to David. "Where. . . where am I?" he asked, his voice raspy and hollow, but still very suspicious.

"Y-you're in a Hospital tent," David stuttered, still surprised that the man had woken so suddenly. "A Hospital tent inside a Phoenix camp. . .A very large Phoenix camp," he added for good measure.

"This is a trap," he said, his eyes darting to Gabrielle and back to David. "Where are the others. . . You're tricking me." He shook David once, his hand fisting tighter in David's robes. "Don't fuck with me. . . because I'll. . .I'll. . ." He didn't seem to know what he was going to do, as once again, his eyes darted around the tent, making him look like a trapped animal.

Gabrielle gasped, putting a hand over her mouth and David wrenched himself free of the man's grasp as he finally got his bearings and barked out his own questions. "Who are you? What's your name?"

The man was still looking at him, his gaze confused but calculating has he touched his chest, obviously searching for dog tags. "Am I really in a Phoenix camp?"

"Yes," David nodded, grasping his wand more firmly. "The tent is carefully guarded. . . Several men are just outside the flap."

"H-how did I get here?"

"I found you. You were in the dungeon of an abandoned home that was believed to belong to Death Eaters."

He nodded, still thoughtful and reaching for dog tags that weren't there. "And I'm not dead. . .right?"

"Oh no, you are not dead. . .You are very much alive. " Gabrielle stepped closer to him, and once again reached out to touch him, but drew her hand back when the man flinched. "You were very sick. . . and dehydrated, but we 'ave good zings 'ere to 'elp you. We were able to 'elp your body become re-nourished very quickly. . .It took many, many fluids all night."

He looked at Gabrielle as though seeing her for the first time, and his eyes widened, making him look very vulnerable and not at all like the criminal David was sure he was. "Fleur?"

"No, no. . .I'm Gabrielle. . .Fleur's sister."

"Gabrielle," he said, sounding awed as he stared at her. "My God, you were just a kid the last time I saw you."

Gabrielle turned to smile up at David, looking both smug and excited as she turned back to the man on the bed. "It 'as been a while since I waz a kid. . . You 'ave been gone a long time, yes?"

"I guess." He turned to David, no longer looking suspicious, but still very nervous and obviously unaccustomed to his surroundings. "My tags, where are they. . .They're important. I need them."

"What's your name and rank?" David asked, deciding that he wasn't just going to fall so easily for this man's trap, though it was very believing. "And where did you get those tags?"

The man stared at him, and then a crack of a smile appeared on his lips. It was obvious he hadn't smiled in a very long time. "They're mine."

"I knew Colin Creevey, and you're not him," David lied, finding it was the best tactic to get the truth.

"I doubt that. . .You look like you couldn't be a year over twenty one."

David huffed, a bit put out that his age could be guessed so easily. "I went to school with him."

"What's your name?"

"David Patil," David said quickly, and then almost huffed again when he realized that this stranger was quickly getting the upper hand. He needed to remind him who was in charge and who was laying half dead in a Hospital bed. "Lieutenant Patil."

The man laughed, and then started coughing because of it. He gripped his side and shook his head a little. "I should have known. . .You look just like the Patil twins."

"How do you know my sisters?" David asked, trying to remember that this was a Death Eater he was talking to.

"I was in the same house as Parvati. . .I even went to the Yule Ball with Padma, though I think she regrets it. I was a miserable date."

David stumbled back, looking at the man with wide eyes. It was a little known fact that Padma had gone with Ron Weasley to the Yule Ball in her fourth year. No Death Eater would have known that. It would have taken very thorough research, and even then, how could he have known that he'd be facing Padma's brother and would need it?

"Oh my God," David said, feeling thunderstruck. "You really are Ron Weasley."


	3. Ch 3

General Ron Weasley didn't look thrilled to hear his name, because he narrowed his eyes at David. "How many people know that?"

"No one, just Gabrielle and I," David said, shaking his head and trying to process the information. "S-sir, everyone thinks your dead. . .They buried you over two years ago."

"What'd they bury?" he asked, sounding sad and bewildered again as he looked around the tent. "Two years. . . I hadn't realized that it'd been so long."

"They found your body. People saw you die. . . How. . ." David shook his head again, his mouth falling open. "How can you be alive?"

"It doesn't matter," the General said, sitting up and running a hand through his red hair, looking surprised to find it so short. He touched his face, feeling his smooth chin and then arched an eyebrow at Gabrielle before he turned back to David. "Listen, Lieutenant. . .Harry, is he still. . ." He paled, looking like he was going to choke. "He's still alive, right?"

"Oh yes, he's better than alive. . .He defeated the Dark Lord." David swelled with pride, smiling. "The war's over. . . We won."

Ron was thoughtful, and smiled to himself. "He did it. . . I'll be damned." He took a moment to savoir that knowledge and then he hesitated again. "And my family. . . You wouldn't happen to know anything about. . ."

"They're all fine," David said, knowing that if he'd just gotten out of prison, that'd be the first thing he'd want to know. "Well, except Percy Weasley. . . but you already knew about. . ."

"Yes, I know. . . He died before I'd been captured." Ron nodded, looking tired again as he fell back against the bed. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "There's one more person. . .But, God. . . "

David's heart clenched, already knowing what Ron was asking. "If you're talking about your wife. . ."

"Wife?" Ron's head snapped up, looking shocked. "I'm not married."

David hesitated, sharing a look with Gabrielle, wondering how he could remember a date with Padma years ago, but not his own wife. Then again, who knew what the Death Eater's did to him while he'd been captured. "Yes, sir. . .You are. . . You-you married Hermione Weasley right before you. . . " He gestured to Ron, not really wanting to say that he'd died, but it was a story that was so ingrained in all their minds, he didn't know how else to tell it. "Right before you. . .left. . ."

"I see," Ron nodded, looking off into space for a long while before he turned back to David. "And is my wife. . .okay?"

"She's fine, sir. . .There was an article about her and Veronica in the paper the other day."

"Veronica?"

"David," Gabrielle gasped, saying something in French as she covered her mouth. She turned to David with tears sparking unshed in her eyes. "'E doesn't know. . ."

"Bugger," David said, feeling his own surge of panic. That wasn't something you could just drop on a bloke, especially one who looked as sick as the General did.

"Doesn't know what?" Ron said, sitting up in bed, looking worried. "Tell me. . . What's happened that I don't know?"

"No, no, it's not bad, sir," David said, looking at Gabrielle uncertainly.

"No, it is very good," Gabrielle said, catching David's hint as she leaned down and smiled at Ron. "Veronica is Hermione's little girl. . . such a beautiful little girl. . .It waz such a miracle when she waz born. . .She gives us all 'ope."

Ron had gone pale, and fell back against the bed, making David think that maybe he hadn't understood. "When you. . .died. . .It was devastating to the effort. We lost our greatest General. . . and Harry Potter's best friend. . ." David said, biting his lip and seeing if he could explain the story correctly. "And then Veronica came along. . .And it just gave everyone something to believe in again. . . You know, like there was a God somewhere."

"So," Ron said, looking back and forth between David and Gabrielle, still very pale and shaken. "Hermione married someone else. . . After she married me. . . and had a baby."

"No!" Gabrielle said, jumping up and cursing under her breath in French once more. "No, we explained it wrong. . .Hermione is not married to anyone else. . . Veronica is your baby. . . See, zat was where za 'ope came from. "Zere waz still a piece of you 'ere. . ."

Ron blinked, and looked off into space for a second, his eyes getting suspiciously glassy and then he covered his face with his hand, speaking through his fingers. "She was pregnant."

"Yes, didn't you know?" David asked, feeling tears burn his own eyes.

Ron shook his head, his face still covered. "No, it must have happened right before. . ." He fell silent for a second, his chest rising and falling heavily. Then he rubbed a hand over his face and looked back at David. "How. . .How old is she? The baby I mean. . ."

"She's about a year and half."

Gabrielle wiped at her own eyes and smiled at Ron. "She is beautiful baby too. . .I think I 'ave a picture 'ere somewhere. . .Would you like to see it?"

Ron nodded silently, his eyes still glassy as he ran a hand through his red hair again. Gabrielle dashed off to the desk on the other side of the room, riffling through the papers until she gave a shout of triumph, holding up an old newspaper. She walked back over and shook out the paper, folding it neatly in half so that the article about Hermione and Veronica was facing out, a picture of the two of them sitting on a large swing outside the Burrow featured prominently in the center of it.

"It is a shame it is not in color," Gabrielle said, looking at the picture and then handing the paper to Ron, who took the paper with shaking fingers. "She 'as beautiful red hair. . ."

Then General stared at the picture hungrily, his finger tracing over the laughing baby girl waving at the camera. He was silent for what seemed like ages before he chuckled quietly to himself. "She has curly hair. . . I bet Hermione hates that. . . She always hated her own curls."

"No! No! Zey are beautiful curls," Gabrielle said passionately. "We should all be so lucky."

Ron nodded, his eyes never leaving the picture as his finger moved over to Hermione's face. "I always thought they were beautiful." His finger traced over Hermione's short hair, that was a bit wild with curls spring out at odd angles, but she brushed them back with one hand, while holding the giggling baby with the other. "She cut it. . ."

"Sir, I'm sorry. . ." David cleared his throat. "But, I really do need to alert the others about you being here. They still think you're Colin Creevey. I was about to write a note to his parents to say that you'd been found."

Ron's head snapped up, and he looked at David in concern. "You didn't send it, did you?"

"No, not yet."

"Good," Ron nodded, and looked back at the picture once more. "Colin's dead. . .I wouldn't want to them to think that he was alive only to find out it's just me."

David thought the term 'just me' was an understatement, considering the whole wizarding world had mourned his death. Ron Weasley being alive was going to be something written about in the History books forever.

"W-we still need to notify the Major. . . I'm sure your family will want to know that you're really alive."

Ron shook his head, finally setting down the paper on his lap. "No, don't tell anyone it's me. . . I don't want them to find out like that."

"I don't understand," David said, his brow furrowed. "They'll know who you are. . . It's a miracle no one noticed before now. Your face is very recognizable. Everyone knows what you look like."

"Yeah." Ron sat up again, and then looked down at his bare chest, frowning at the sheet. "Listen, Lieutenant. . .Can you help me get out of here?"

"What?"

"I want to tell my family myself. . . If I could just find one of them it'd be better. They'll never believe it if someone sends them an owl. I don't want to make it any harder for anyone."

David opened his mouth, but he didn't know what to say. Since Ron Weasley was alive again, he was still a General, and it was his duty to follow his orders, but still. . .

"You are still too sick," Gabrielle complained, stepping forward and looking to David for help. "Let one of us go and find your family. . .One of my friends is a nurse in the next camp and I know Charlie, your brother, is in that camp. . ."

"How far is it?"

"Just a few miles, but. . ."

"I can do that." Ron winced as he sat up fully, stretching his arms. "Can you find me some clothes. . ."

"I don't have any that'll fit you," David said, eyeing Ron's long frame. "They'd all be inches too short."

"We can alter them, I'm sure Gabrielle knows how to do that," Ron said, his bare feet hitting the floor, but he failed to stand up, instead gripping his side and breathing heavily. He took a few more deep breaths and then attempted to stand, but slumped forward almost immediately. Gabrielle cursed once again in French and jumped forward to steady him, as he laughed at her continued swearing. "We really need to do something about that mouth of yours, Gabrielle."

"Sir, I really feel that this is a bad idea. . . Why not rest and I'll go get Charlie and bring him to you. I'll go now and I won't tell anyone why I'm visiting."

Ron nodded, sitting back down on the bed with Gabrielle's help. "Will your superiors let you leave?"

"The War's over. . . People have been going back and forth between camps to see their friends and family. That's why all the units are traveling together. They know that everyone wants to celebrate and visit while we all travel back to London."

"Okay, go. . ." Ron said, falling heavily back onto the bed and closing his eyes. "But only talk to Charlie. . . Tell him that there's a man in Hospital tent asking for him, that you think he's a friend. . ."

"Yes, sir," David stood to attention, and saluted Ron, and then turned to leave; worried that he might change his mind.

"Lieutenant," the General called out, waving off Gabrielle's fusing. David turned back to him, seeing another smile pass over his face. "Thanks for saving my life."

David nodded, unable to help himself as he stared at a man that they'd all mourned for the past two years. "It was an honor, sir. We're just glad you're alive."

"Me too, Lieutenant. . ." Ron said, his gaze growing dazed as he lay back down and for the first time seemed to really show the wear his ordeal had caused. "Me too. . ."


	4. Ch 4

Getting into see Charlie Weasley proved harder than David had anticipated. It wasn't easy to walk into a General's tent and have a discussion with him. All the Weasleys were popular amongst the troops, but Charlie Weasley, the only one besides Ron who'd actually made the rank of General, was especially favored. While his brothers spent most of their time at the Ministry, working to aid the war effort from there, Charlie was always in the fields fighting. Harry Potter had actually moved camps once Ron had died, and had spent most of his time with Charlie over the past two years. It had been his unit that had been right on the front lines in the final battle, and David knew that they were all very protective of their General.

"It's extremely important that I see him," David argued with the stern looking guard in front of the General's tent, trying not to lose his patience. "He has a friend over in our camp that's asking for him. . . I know he'd want to see him."

The man sighed, looking annoyed as he twirled his wand lazily and leaned against the post outside of the General's tent. "Everyone's his friend. . . Doesn't mean he can just stop by for a visit every time someone asks."

"This is different. . ."

"Sure it is," he said, rolling his eyes. "Look, mate, it's bloody early and I'm not about to wake the General up just to talk to you. . . Come back later. He's always wandering around doing something. Likes to get his hands dirty tearing down tents and the like. . .Can't keep him from it. . .You can catch him then. . ."

David ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, his friend is sick. . . It's important to him that he sees the General. He wanted to come visit himself. . ."

"So let him," the man said, shrugging.

"Did you not hear me?" David barked, his voice raising a notch. "The man is sick. He can't just hop on a broomstick and fly over here; I found him half dead in a dungeon yesterday. It's a bloody miracle he's even awake."

"Hey, I heard about that," the man said, perking up and finally sounding interested. "Found him over in the old Rubach mansion, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and he'd been near starved to death," David snapped, keeping to himself that the man also showed signs of being tortured, since he knew that eventually it'd be known that it was Ron Weasley they'd found in that dungeon and not Colin Creevey. David didn't think that General Weasley would want everyone to know that his back was covered in scars.

"Cor, can you imagine?" the man said, shuddering. "Left in a dungeon to rot. . . How long do you think he was in there?"

"I don't know." David shrugged, trying not to think about it. "I don't think he knows. . .Kind of hard to keep track of time when you're locked up."

"Yeah, blimey. . . Poor fella. Lucky you found him, eh?"

"Very lucky," David agreed, trying not to get impatient. "Now can I talk to the General or not?"

"I don't know," the man said, going back to twirling his wand. "He was up awful late last night. . . Hate to wake him. He and the other lads had a bit of a party. Drank all the other blokes under the table, he did."

David couldn't help but smile at that. "Oh yeah?"

"Heh, yeah. . . All those Weasleys can drink. My mate works with the twins over in development and he says the worst mistake a bloke can make is to get sucked into a drinking game with them."

"I'll bet," David chuckled a second and then remembered General Weasley back in the other tent, probably nervous as hell. "Listen, this chap is sick and. . ."

"Who's sick?"

David and the guard turned around, staring at Charlie Weasley. If you didn't know better, you'd never know he was a General, standing there in nothing but a pair of old trousers, bare-chested, with dog tags around his neck and his red hair sticking up at odd angles. He looked back and forth between the two of them when his question wasn't answered and finally the guard perked up, snapping to attention.

"The Lieutenant here says he's got a friend of yours in the other camp, sir."

"Oh yeah? What's his name?" Charlie said, rubbing a hand over his face and looking a little worse for the wear. He turned to walk back into his tent, showing off a large dragon tattoo that covered the broad expanse of his bare back. David noted that even the dragon was sleeping soundly, with little puffs of smoke pillowing out of his flared nostrils. "You can come in, Lieutenant. . . Just ignore the mess. . .Had a bit of celebration last night, but you understand."

"Oh, absolutely, sir."

David stepped into the tent, and couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at how lavish it was. Even with stray whiskey bottles littered over the floor and on the table in the dining room, it was still the most luxurious war tent he'd been in. The furnishings were all of the highest quality, and there were at least three or four different rooms. It was definitely better than the little tent that David shared with two other blokes.

"Wow!" he said, not able to help himself as he followed the General into his office.

"Yeah, I know," Charlie said, shaking his head and smiling as he dropped down in a large leather chair behind his desk and gestured for David to sit. "They insisted I take it. . . I'm happier in a plain old barracks tent myself, but they said it wouldn't do to have a general bunking up with the privates. It's a bitch to set up, I'll tell you that."

"Did you set it up yourself?"

"No fair to make others set up my tent," the General said as though it was obvious, rubbing a hand over his face again. "Of course, they are all done with theirs and I'm still setting up this beast. . . Would make my life a lot easier to have just a simple barracks tent. Still, it's nice when family visits to have the extra room." He blinked at David, still looking half asleep. "So, this friend. . . What was his name again?"

"I. . ." David opened his mouth, realizing he hadn't thought that far ahead, so he said the first name that came to mind. "Colin Creevey, sir."

The General startled, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Creevey's dead. . . Are sure that's the name?"

David didn't want to argue that, since Ron had confirmed that he was indeed dead. So he reached into his pocket and just handed the General the dog tags he still had from the night before. The General took them, flipping them over in his hand, staring at the lion and then rubbing his thumb over the personal information on the other side. "My God, we thought he'd died and we couldn't find the body. . . They must have captured him instead. He'd have been in that prison for years." He was thoughtful, still rubbing his thumb over Creevey's name. "Is he the one they found over at the Rubach mansion?"

"Y-yes, sir." David said hesitantly. Lying to a General made him more than a little nervous. "He was in bad shape, but Gabrielle worked on him all night, and he's doing much better today."

"I know Gabrielle. . .She's a sweet girl," he mumbled almost to himself. "You know. . . Creevey turned up missing in the same battle that we lost Ron in."

"I didn't know that, sir." David said, growing more nervous. "That is a long time, then. . ."

"Yeah, Ron trusted him. . . He always sort of worshiped Ron and Harry. We weren't surprised to find out that Colin was with him. Broke my heart to tell his parents. . . But, then. . .My heart was already pretty broken." The General was still staring at the dog tags, but then he shook himself and looked up at David, giving him a forced smile. "Anyway. . .Good news that he's alive. Amazing, actually. . .And you say he's awake?"

"Yes, he was asking for you," David nodded, looking up at the General as he stood, pocketing the dog tags and stretching his arms, obviously trying to wake up more fully. "He's still pretty weak. . .But he's very awake, just a bit disorientated. It's a lot to take in."

"Yeah, I'll bet. . .and you told him the war was over?"

"Yes, he was very relieved."

"Aren't we all?" The General reached for his shirt that was hanging on a hook near the door. He pulled it on, and then worked on the buttons, muttering something about 'bloody General's uniforms.' He reached for his robes next, and finally turned to David, holding out his arms and displaying his robes, with the Phoenix emblem on them and his General insignia. "How do I look?"

"Fine, sir."

"Uh huh, sure. . ." The General turned to a mirror hanging on the other wall and tried to brush down his hair that was still wild, but gave up when the mirror started offering suggestions. "It'll have to do."

David stood up, feeling incredibly tense and wondering just how the General was going to react when he found out that David had lied to him about who was really back at his camp. Though he was easy going now, everyone knew about the famous Weasley temper.

The General grabbed his broom that was resting near the flap to his tent and then turned back to David. "You flew, right?"

"Yes, sir. . ."

"Great, I fancy a fly anyway. . . I don't get to go out as often as I'd like."


	5. Ch 5

They made it back to David's camp in record time. Once in the air, Charlie Weasley had become fully awake, acting a bit like a teenager as opposed to the decorated general he was. He had instantly challenged David to a race, leaning in low on his broom and lunging into a steep dive. He took off in a blur of motion but David had managed to keep up, despite the fact that his broom was a much older model than the General's. By the time they landed, it was anyone's guess who had won the race. The General was laughing and in good spirits as he tossed his broom over his shoulder.

"You're a good flyer," he said, running a hand through his wind swept hair and smiling at David. "Play Quidditch?"

"I was Seeker for Ravenclaw for three years. . . We won the Quidditch Cup in our seventh year," David said with no small amount of pride.

"Seeker, huh?" The General's smile broadened. "Me too!"

"Yes, I know," David said, trying not to smile at how humble the General really was. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that almost anyone in the Wizarding world would know his life story. "I can see why they wanted you to play for England. . .You're still really good."

"Still?" The General said, faking insult. "Cor, Lieutenant, I'm not that old. . . The only reason you got the best of me today is because I'm still recovering from a bit of a hangover."

David smirked, finding that he really liked Charlie Weasley. "Right, of course."

"We'll have to race again sometime. . .When I'm at my best." The General waved at the Guards at the edge of the camp, both of whom snapped to attention when they saw who David was walking with. "Can't have some young buck walking around saying he beat me."

"I'd never say that, sir."

"Right, there's a good lad. . . Don't want make an old General look bad." Charlie stared around the camp, appearing not to notice the men who all stopped to gape at him. "Now, the hospital tent. . ."

David pointed to left, down a row of tents. "Just down this way, sir."

It took them a while to actually make it to the tent. Since it was now mid-morning, most of the camp was awake, and the General was waylaid by everyone wanting to shake his hand and greet him. He was kind to everyone, not rushing as he talked to each person, regardless of his or her rank. Eventually, the Major had come bounding out of his tent, still straightening his robes as he pushed through the mass of people to reach the General and David.

"General Weasley, sir," Major Dargen said, looking a bit flustered as he extended his hand to Charlie. "I didn't know you were coming in for a visit. . . We would have been more prepared."

"Don't worry about it, Major," the General said, shaking Major Dargen's hand and smiling. "Glad to see you all weathered the final battle well. . .Other units weren't so lucky."

"Yes, yes, I know," Major Dargen said, bowing his head for a second before he looked to David and smiled. "But we have a good unit. . . I take it you heard about Lieutenant Patil's recovery of one of our men. . . We were all very excited to find him alive."

"That's why I'm here," the General said, also smiling at David. "Creevey's a friend of the family. He served right under Ron. We thought he fell with him, but apparently not. Everyone will be thrilled to see that he survived. I think Harry will be particularly relieved."

"Oh, well. . ." The Major looked a bit panicked, and he turned to David, silently communicating that he should have told him about Creevey's connection to the Weasley family and Harry Potter. David winced, thinking that this was only going to get worse. The Major was going to go spare when he found out that they'd had General Ron Weasley in a rickety old hospital tent all night. The Major cleared his throat, composing himself with remarkable ease. "We were just going to transfer to him better quarters now that he's awake, but we wanted to make sure and keep him in the hospital tent while we stabilized him."

"Of course," Charlie nodded, and then put his hand on David's shoulder. "Lead the way, Lieutenant."

David looked to the General, feeling his first real shock of fear. How would a man react to seeing a brother he'd thought was dead for the past two years? He really shouldn't have lied, and he realized that his loyalty to Ron Weasley only went so far, especially now that the Major was accompanying them.

"Listen, about Creevey. . ."

"Come, it's just here," the Major interrupted him, giving him a stern look for speaking to the General so causally. He stepped up the hospital tent that they'd reached without David noticing and lifted the flap. "Our Gabrielle has been up with him all night. . . Sitting right by his side."

"Well, no man can complain about having a Veela fusing over him." The General chucked and walked into the tent. "You really do provide the best care."

David looked at Charlie Weasley in shock, temporally forgetting his other cause for panic. He hadn't known that Gabrielle was a Veela, but he supposed it made sense. She was incredibly beautiful.

David would have asked how the General knew that, but Charlie had stopped dead in his tracks, reaching blindly for a chair next to him when it looked like his knees might give out.

"General?" Major Dargen said, rushing to Charlie's aid. "Are you all right, sir?"

David saw that his eyes were trained at the bed located at the far end of then tent, unmoving. Ron had fallen asleep while David had been gone, his face turned towards the front of the tent, his red hair glowing in the morning sunlight that filtered in through the windows. He still looked gaunt and drained, but there was no mistaking, even from a distance, that he was Ron Weasley.

Gabrielle stood slowly from her seat next Ron's bed, looking at the General and Major Dargen in trepidation. There was a deathly silence in the room, and David turned to see that Major Dargen had also frozen where he stood, staring at Ron in a mixture of horror and awe. Ron looked very different from the filthy man they'd brought in the night before. No one could have guessed that this was the man hiding under the dirt and grime.

Finally the silence was broken when Charlie Wesley rounded on both David on the Major, his eyes wild with fury, his voice frightening in its intensity. "What sort of sick joke is this?"

"It's not a joke, sir. . ." David stuttered, cowering under the General's rage. "He was asking for you. . . He told me to go fetch you. . ."

"That's not my brother!" the General yelled, reaching out to grip David's robes and shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "I saw him die with my own eyes. . . Ron's dead and buried. . . I don't know how you did this. . .but you will pay for it!"

"I didn't. . . We found him like that. . ."

"Then you're nothing but a naive little shit!" The General shook him again, his face growing red in fury. "Do you think I would have let Ron rot in prison if I thought there was even the slightest chance he was alive?" When David didn't answer, Charlie shoved him against the sidewall, knocking the air out of him. "Do you?"

"No, no, I don't," David said, shaking his head quickly. "But, he. . .he knew things that only Ron Weasley could. . .could know."

"How the hell do you know what he knew or not? Any idiot can read up about him!" Charlie rounded on the Major, not releasing his hold on David. "What sort of training are you giving this lot? Can't you see this is some sort of trick?"

"Y-yes, sir. . . Obviously a trick." The major nodded, looking terrified. "We'll have the imposture taken into custody straight away. . .Lieutenant Patil didn't tell me. . ." He shook himself, glaring at David in disappointment. "I'll take care of it right now, sir."

The Major darted out of the tent, and his voice could be heard echoing through the camp, calling to the guards to report. David could only gape at the General, who'd turned back to glare at the man in the bed like he was the vilest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

"If it had been someone else. . . Christ, my mum, Ginny, my brothers. . .Hermione. . ." Charlie said, turning back to David and shaking him again for good measure. "Do you know what seeing him would have done to them. . .You little bast--"

"Charlie. . .Stop being a prat and let the kid go."

Charlie's grip on David's robes loosened as he turned to the man laying in the bed, watching as he blinked and tried to sit up. "Don't speak to me. . . You. . ."

"Me what?" Ron finally managed to sit up fully, breathing heavily with the effort. "Please let the lad go. . .He saved my life, and I'm really not up to rescuing him from your wrath just to pay back the debt."

"The guards are coming, you arsehole," Charlie said, finally letting David go as he stomped towards the bed. "I'm going to make sure you rot in prison for trying to do this to my family!"

"Brilliant, something I'm used to," Ron said, chucking softly. "I'd probably sleep better."

"You expect me to feel sorry for you. . . You fuck off! I wasn't born yesterday!"

"Really, because you're acting like it!" Ron said, finally barking back in annoyance. "Beating up a kid who saved your brother's life. . .That's real mature, Charliekins!"

The General stumbled backwards, his knees buckling for a second. He recovered quickly, but still backed away another step, obviously very unnerved. "Y-you're not my brother. . ."

Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair as he flopped back against the bed, looking tired of the whole thing. "Go on, then. . . Ask me anything if that's what you need."

The guards had stormed into the tent during this exchange, and were moving forward to take Ron into custody, but Charlie held up a hand to stop them, his eyes never leaving the man on the cot. "If you're Ron. . . Tell me what your last code name was?"

"Red Knight."

Charlie stepped back again, and David saw his face go from red to pale very quickly. "Why?"

"Because I'm an egotistical prat who likes to cling to the glory of his youth."

Charlie shook his head, his hand shaking now as he held it in the air to hold back the guards. "Not good enough."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Because I played the knight piece in my first year when I helped Harry defeat McGonagall's giant chess set."

Charlie reached from the post next to him, his whole body shaking now as he stared at the bed. "What's your worse phobia?"

"Death Eaters," Ron said, smiling grimly.

"Wrong."

Ron's shoulders slumped, and he looked around the room and then frowned at the General. "Bugger, Charlie, don't make me admit this in front of all these lads. . .Makes me look bad."

"Tell me or I'm going to have you arrested!"

"Spiders, I hate spiders!" Ron said, the words bursting out of him in annoyance. "Fred was a little arsehole who turned my teddy into a giant spider and ever since then I hate the bloody things. . . Be sure and tell the blokes outside, because I don't think everyone heard."

Charlie was shaking his head now, making a choking noise. "I saw you die. . . I saw you. . .I recovered your body myself."

"God, Charlie. . .I'm sorry," Ron said, his own voice growing suddenly thick with emotion. "It wasn't me. . . It was Colin. We switched dog tags and took Polyjuice potion so I could slip out of the camp unnoticed and get to Harry and warn him about the attack. I didn't realize until it was too late that Colin decided to head out the other way and act like a decoy instead of staying in the General tent like we'd planned. . .By the time I realized what he'd done, it was already too late. I couldn't get back to him in time. There was the explosion and I saw him go down, and then someone caught me from behind and I woke in a dungeon hurting like hell." Ron looked at Charlie in concern and regret, his eyes sparkling dangerously. "Didn't you know it wasn't me when you recovered the body? The Polyjuice would have worn off by then."

"There. . . there wasn't much of you left. . ." Charlie said, his whole frame still shaking in shock. "We didn't bother with any sort of identification because I'd seen the whole thing and putting your body through all those tests. . . It just would have made it worse on all of us. It was easier just to bury you in peace."

"It wasn't me you buried. . .It was Colin." Ron swallowed hard, and covered his eyes for a second. "I don't think I can ever forgive myself for his death."

The General suddenly dashed across room and grabbed Ron, pulling him into a fierce hug. He let out a choked sob as he let his forehead rested against Ron's bare shoulder. "Oh God," he said, obviously crying. "All this time. . . All this time and you've been alive."

Ron hugged him back. Though he looked like he was hurting from Charlie's death grip on him, he didn't complain. "I'm sorry, mate. . . You know I'd never want to put you through that."

"No, no, I'm sorry," Charlie said, choking on another sob. "I should have had them test the body. . . If we'd known, we would have looked for you. . . I would have looked for you. . .I would have found you."

"I know, but it's over now. . . And Harry did it. . . He beat Voldemort."

Charlie wiped his eyes and nodded, finally pulling up to look at Ron, his eyes running over his face in muted awe. "Yeah, we won. . . Just like you said we would." He shook his head, still seeming to be in complete shock. "Cor, Ron. . . You don't know what having you alive is going to mean. We all took your death really hard. M-mum's never been the same. . . Harry. . . Hermione. . . All of us, it just wasn't the same after you were gone."

"Listen, Charlie," Ron said, leaning in a bit to whisper, but his voice echoed anyway, since everyone else had fallen deathly silent. "About Hermione. . ."

"She's fine," Charlie said quickly, obviously sensing Ron's concern. "As fine as she can be without you, anyway. . . I think she took your death the hardest, but she weathered the war well. She's healthy."

Ron nodded, swallowing hard. "This lot was saying something about us being married. . . I haven't forgot my own wedding, have I? I thought I'd managed to keep my wits about me when other blokes were going mad. . .But now. . . You'd think I'd remember getting married. . .Or at least the honeymoon."

Charlie gave a strained attempt at a laugh. "I think your wits are still intact." He finally looked back at the Major and the guards still in the room, all of whom were sniffling suspiciously, but other than that had remained silent, more out of shock then respect. "Major, do you think I could have a few moments with my brother?"


	6. Ch 6

"Oh yes, sir," the Major said, nodding as he continued to stare at Ron. He wiped his eyes that were just as moist as everyone else's in the room. "General Weasley, it's good to have you back, sir, a real miracle."

"Thank you, Major. . .Your unit has been good to me and I appreciate it. The war's over, but I'm sure they are still handing out awards of merit," Ron said, smiling and nodding towards him.

"No reward is necessary, sir. . .We're just happy you're alive," the Major said as the guards started to file out. "Shall I see to better quarters? There's no need for you to stay in this old Hospital tent while you recover."

"That's not necessary, Major," Charlie said as he stared at Ron, looking as if he expected him to disappear at any moment. "I'd rather have him in my camp. We can easily accommodate the General."

"Yes, of course, sir. I'll be around if you need me to help make arrangements."

David put a comforting arm around Gabrielle when she came up to him, ready to walk out with the others. She instantly buried her face against his robes, giving a tiny sob, and he could do nothing but rub her back helplessly as he turned to guide her out of the tent. His own eyes were burning from the effort it took to hold back his own tears, but he managed it. . .barely.

"Wait, Lieutenant!"

David turned around to look at Charlie, while still supporting most of Gabrielle's weight as she sobbed against his shoulder. "Yes, sir?"

Charlie got up and walked to the door, and David could see that his eyes were still red with tears welling up in them, but he did a good job of pretending not to notice. He stared at the general, not knowing what to except considering he'd lied rather profoundly too him. He was extremely surprised when Charlie pounced on just as suddenly as he had Ron, squeezing the air out of him as he hugged him. David had no choice but to release Gabrielle and awkwardly return the hug.

"You brought Ron back to us," Charlie said, choking again and patting him soundly on the back, making it even harder for David to breath. "We owe you everything. . . Anything you want just name it. . . and. . ."

"Sir, I don't want anything," David wheezed when Charlie still didn't let him go. "Really. . ."

Charlie finally released him and then reached for Gabrielle, pulling her into a hug that was perhaps a bit less enthusiastic, but still wholehearted. "And you," Charlie said to her, placing a brotherly kiss on the top of her head when she started crying louder. "Taking care of him all night. . . He looks almost as good as new and I know that's thanks to you. I don't know why I ever approved the transfer that took you out of our camp. . . The men have never forgiven me for that, but I'm glad you were here to take care of him."

"You 'ave the very best 'ealers at your camp, sir," she said, wiping at eyes and pulling away to give a Charlie a watery smile. "You didn't need me."

"No, we need you." Charlie said, wiping at his own eyes as his smile broadened. "I hope you know that you're coming back with me. . . I can't leave you here now."

"Oh," she said, a bit startled as she looked at David. "I couldn't. . ."

"Maybe she has friends here, Charlie," Ron called from the other side of the room as he smiled at David. "She may not want to go back with you."

"Friends?" Charlie said, looking at Ron, obviously still a bit disorientated. His eyebrows rose suddenly and he smiled at David. "Do you mean the lieutenant? He's coming back with us, too. You don't mind traveling with us the rest of the way back, do you?"

"N-no, I don't mind," David said, a bit stunned by the hospitality. "If you don't think the other lads will mind me bunking up with them?"

"Bunking up?" Charlie laughed and patted David on the back again, nearly knocking him over. "You'll have your own tent...have my tent, in fact. . ."

David laughed finally. "I don't want your tent, sir."

"Take it," Ron said, trying to choke back a cough as he laughed. "He'll thank you for it. . .He hates those damn General tents. He's always complaining about setting them up."

"See, I told you," Charlie said, shaking him head as he looked back at Ron. He walked back towards his bed and Gabrielle and David turned to leave, but Charlie called out to them. "Stay, I want to hear about how you found him. . .both of you, stay." He sat down in the chair Gabrielle had been sitting in, and turned to Ron. "You don't mind, do you?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I don't mind. . . I really haven't heard everything myself."

Charlie nodded, appearing thoughtful for a second, before Ron was choking back a groan as Charlie hugged him again. "Okay, Charlie. . .It's okay," Ron said, patting him on the back once, and looking like he was trying to breathe. "You have to let up a little. . .I'm still not quite myself." When Charlie didn't get the point, Ron pushed at his shoulder. "You're killing me, mate."

Charlie released him almost instantly. "Are you okay? Is he okay?" He turned to Gabrielle, looking worried. "He'll recover, right?"

"Oh yes, he will recover," Gabrielle nodded, seeming to have finally pulled herself together. "It'll take a while before he iz able to get around like he used to, but he should be fine."

Charlie nodded and looked back at Ron. "Gosh, mate, you're awful thin. . . You've probably lost six stone from the last time I saw you."

"I know," Ron said, wincing as he tried to sit up. Gabrielle grabbed a pillow from one of the other cots and put it behind his back to help prop him up as Charlie reached out to steady him. "Thank you, Gabrielle." He turned back to Charlie, looking more relaxed now. "Honestly, Charlie, I'm fine. . . It's just going to take me a bit to gain all my strength back."

"He was unconscious when I found him yesterday," David added when Charlie didn't look comforted. "I can't believe he's already awake and talking. I thought it'd take days before we'd get a word out of him. He's improving really fast. Truly, sir," David said, turning to Ron. "I'm really in awe at your strength. I don't know of anyone who could survive in the conditions I found you."

"See, now you're just trying to boost a general's wounded ego," Ron said, giving a little laugh.

Charlie laughed too, looking a bit more relieved. "Yeah, he's good at that. They must have added that to the Phoenix handbook. . .Make sure that your general's ego is firmly intact at all times."

"Better than my brother who basically told me I look like shit."

"You do look like shit," Charlie confirmed without missing a beat. "Hermione's going to go spare."

"That really doesn't help," Ron said, losing a bit of his mirth as he got suddenly serious. "Charlie, tell me about Hermione. . . I haven't gone mad, have I?"

"No, mate, you're not mad," he glanced up at Gabrielle and then to David, seeming to hesitate for a bit. "I know I can trust you lot. . . Nothing I say leaves this room and that's an order." David would have said that they could leave, but the general went on without waiting for a confirmation. "You were right, you and Hermione were never really married. We had to have the papers forged after you died. . ."

"Because of the baby?"

"Right," Charlie nodded, sighing a bit in obvious relief. "I'd reckoned you heard about Roni. She's so popular. It's been a pain to keep the reporters away from her. We have to allow a few publicity shoots just to keep them at bay. If not, they'd hound Hermione all the time."

"I don't understand how. . ." Ron said, his voice mystified.

"Well, I assumed it was old fashioned way," Charlie said, smirking for a second. "It was lucky that Hermione already knew she was pregnant. We were able to have the papers done right away and make up a story about a secret marriage a few days before you died."

"She never told me," Ron said, shaking his head. "I know she didn't."

"I'm sure she would have. She wasn't very far along when. . . when everything happened. We were worried that she might lose the baby, considering the stress she was under from losing you, but she's strong. Mum fussed over her constantly. In a way, Roni saved all of us. Gave us something else to focus on, something happy. She looks just like you. . ."

"Really?" Ron said, reaching over to nightstand next to his cot and picking up the paper that Gabrielle had given him. He stared at the picture on the front page for a long moment. "I think she looks like Hermione. . .Her hair. . . it's all curly."

"And bright red," Charlie said, laughing. "Poor thing, but Mum was so happy she wept for days after she was born. She so wanted her to have your coloring. I have some real pictures of her back at my tent. I'll show them to you later. I get new ones every other day. Mum is always sending them to me. I think Dad fancies himself a photographer now. I know they didn't take that many pictures of us when we were growing up."

"Film's expensive," Ron mumbled, still staring at the picture.

"Yeah, well. . . they don't have to worry about that now." Charlie smiled, shaking his head. "She's spoiled rotten. . .You're going to have your hands full with that one, mate."

"I'm a dad," he said, looking up at Charlie, his eyes wide.

"I know." Charlie laughed. "And a husband. . . too bad about you missing the honeymoon, though."

"Maybe we can get married for real," Ron said, going back to look at the paper. "That is, if she still wants me. . ."

"Why wouldn't she want you?" Charlie said, aghast. "Ron, she's mourned you for two years. It's been awful. You being alive. . .that wasn't even something we could hope for. Roni was our miracle. . .and now you're back. . . Trust me, she'll want you."

"Has she dated anyone?" Ron hedged, looking like it was something he'd been worrying about. "I'd understand if she had. . . Two years is a long time."

"No one," Charlie said, shaking his head. "She hasn't been ready to have a relationship. . . not even close. . . She has Roni and she's been content with her. You know, she lives at the Burrow now."

"What?" Ron's head snapped up. "What happened to our house?"

Charlie winced. "She sold it."

Ron's jaw dropped open. "I loved that house. I was going to die in that house."

"Yeah, well, you did die," Charlie said, looking genuinely sorry. "She couldn't bear living there without you. Bill helped her sell it a few months after you died. Mum wanted her at the Burrow, and she didn't complain."

"She was supposed to bury me in the backyard."

Charlie laughed again. "You weren't serious about that, were you?"

"Of course I was serious," Ron said, shaking his head. "So much for honoring my wishes."

"Ron, I don't think you understand just how hard everyone took your death," Charlie said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. "Not just us, but everyone. . . the whole wizarding world. We couldn't bury you in the backyard, not when there were so many mourners. It had to be a bit more public than that."

Ron blanched. "Where'd you bury me then?"

"Just outside Hogsmeade. Hogwarts donated a plot of land where we could set up a memorial to you. Gave everyone a place to go and visit."

"It's really nice, sir," David said, when the general seemed to be stuck with an odd sort of horror that his burial place would be so public. "My sisters and I went there on my last leave. It's not gaudy or anything. . ."

Gabrielle jumped in, touching Ron's shoulder delicately. "It iz beautiful. . . There are always candles and flowers next to the monument. . .and lovely gardens that people can walk through."

"Hermione keeps them up herself," Charlie said, still wincing a little. "She usually goes at night when she knows everyone is gone."

"Okay, I don't want to hear anymore," Ron said, waving his hand to quiet them all. "It's disturbing me. That's not me there, it's Colin and we need to make sure that everyone knows that.

"Everyone will know," Charlie said seriously. "We can change the monument as soon as we get home."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, okay, that's good." He closed his eyes for a second, looking very tired all of a sudden as he touched his chest. He frowned when there was nothing hanging around his neck and turned to David. "Lieutenant, do you think I could have those dog tags back now?"

"Here, I have them." Charlie stood and reached into his pocket, pulling out Colin Creevey's dog tags and handing them to Ron.

Ron took them gratefully. He looked like he might have slipped them back over his neck, but thought better of it and just fisted them tightly in his hand.

"You should rest, General," Gabrielle said, as she reached out to touch his forehead. "You're very warm. . .You 'ave a fever. . . definitely rest. . ." She turned to Charlie and David, looking a bit concerned. "He iz still very sick. . . It has been a long morning, yes?"

"Yeah, a very long morning," Charlie nodded, looking at Ron anxiously. "You rest, mate. We'll bring Gabrielle back with us when we transfer you to my camp, we'll get a nice tent for you."

Ron groaned, his eyes still closed. "You aren't going to make me set it up, are you? You're so self righteous about that shit."

Charlie laughed. "No, I'm sure a few of the lads won't mind setting it up for you, but just this once. You don't want people waiting on you, makes you lazy."

Ron smiled, opening one eye. "Speak for yourself. . . I like having people wait on me."

"Now I know you've got a fever. . . I don't think you've ever let another bloke set up your tent."

"Security. . . only an idiot would let other blokes set up his tent," Ron said, his voice sounding strained. "Could be a mole. . ."

"See, now there's the General we all know and love," Charlie said as he looked at Ron, who had closed his eyes again. "I'll set it up myself. . . How does that sound?"

"Better," Ron nodded, his voice drifting off as he spoke. "It doesn't have to be a big one, Charlie. . . just something with a bed is fine."

"Right, one shitty barracks tent for the General. . . Got it."

"It's better than what I'm used to. . . A barracks tent is like a mansion compared to a dungeon."

"Yeah, I bet it is," Charlie sighed, and shook his head as he stared at Ron. He looked like he might have said more, but it was obvious that his brother had already drifted back off to sleep. "Come, Lieutenant, you can brief me on how you found him while we try to see what we can find for the general."

David waved to Gabrielle as he followed the general out of the tent, but she was already busy looking through the potion cabinet and didn't see him.


	7. Ch 7

Harry rolled over in bed, pulling the warm body next to his closer. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the flowery scent, wondering if he was dreaming or if she was actually real this time.

"Morning," she mumbled in a sleepy voice, stretching lazily. "What time is it?"

"Who cares," Harry said, placing a kiss against her neck. "Let's stay in bed all day and shag until we can't walk."

She smacked his shoulder, appearing scandalized. "People would know what we were up to." Harry grumbled when she rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand. "Blimey, Harry. . . It's half past eleven."

"See, they already know we're having a lay in and shagging. . . Why not give them something more to talk about?"

"Unlike you, I have a job," she said, rolling out of bed and smacking at Harry's hands when he tried to grab her naked waist and stop her from leaving him. "I'm not the hero of the wizarding world. I can't just lay in bed all day."

"I thought you were going to stay here for a while," he said, falling back against the bed and scratching his chest. "Help out around camp."

She turned to him, still naked as she put her hand on her hip. "Yes, see. . .That's the plan. . .To help, not lay in bed shagging."

"Oh, I don't know. . . that sounds pretty helpful to me." He raised a hand to his forehead and moaned as if he was sick. "I think I may have a fever. . . I need special attention."

"A fever, huh?" She stepped closer to bed and leaned over him, giving him a nice view of her breasts, which were tantalizingly close to his face. She placed a hand on his forehead and smiled. "You feel cool to me."

"No, I'm burning up," he said, grabbing her waist and pulling her on top of him. "I need you to cure me."

She squealed and struggled against him. "I'll send you a nurse from the hospital tent. . .A fever draught should fix you right up."

"No, I need a healer, this is a very a serious fever."

She laughed as he rolled her over, pinning her beneath him. "Well, we can't have you dropping dead from a fever. . . The world would never forgive me."

"Mmm, hmmm. . ." he said, leaning down to capture one of her rosy nipples between his lips. She arched her back and he smiled, lifting his head to look at her. "If you leave now. . .You'd have my death on your hands forever."

"Okay, now you're just being silly." She pushed against his shoulder, trying to struggle out from under him. "I'm serious, Harry. Stop distracting me. . . I need to go. I promised Dean I'd tour the hospital tent first thing this morning and I'm already late."

"I don't know if I like you promising Dean things," he said, arching an eyebrow at her. "I think he still has a crush on you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, escaping him for a second time as she crawled out of bed. This time, she made a beeline for her clothes and started putting them on hurriedly. "He hasn't had a crush on me since before he left school."

Harry watched her putting her clothes on, and he had to admit to himself that he did feel a genuine pang of jealously. She was just too beautiful for her own good.

"I love you," he said, unable to stop the emotions from bursting out of him.

She clasped her bra and then turned to him, giving him a beaming smile. "I love you, too. . . But that doesn't mean I'm going to lay in bed with you all day."

"Spoil sport," he said, grumbling again as he leaned up on one elbow and watched her pull her robes over her head.

"You need to get up too, Harry," she said as she pulled her hair into a hastily done ponytail. "I can't be marrying a lazy lout."

"An unemployed lazy lout at that. . ."

"Well," she said, coming to the bed and leaning down to peck him on the lips. "Your job leaves something to be desired. . . I'm happy your last one's over."

Harry nodded, thinking that he'd never get over the relief of Voldemort being gone, even if it meant he'd have nightmares of his final screams for the rest of his life. He tried to force those thoughts to the back of his head and instead focused on the comfort of knowing that after so many years of terror, the war was over.

"Yeah, I'm happy it's over, too." He smiled at her again, feeling lighter than he ever had, especially now that she was here. "Besides, I'm marrying a rich healer who can keep me in the style I've become accustomed."

"If you mean war tents and battlefields, I think I can do better than that."

"As long as you're in it, a war tent is fine with me."

She pulled up and looked at him, a funny expression on her face. "You know, Harry. . .I don't think I've ever seen you so happy. It's nice."

"Yeah, I feel good today," he said, reaching up to tuck a wispy curl that had already escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "How long are you staying?"

"I haven't decided yet." She shrugged and straightening back out as she brushed some of the wrinkles out of her robes. "Depends on how the hospitals tent looks. If they need me, I may stay on for a while. How long do you think it'll be before they start to head back?"

Harry sighed, deciding that he ought to get up. He rolled out of bed and reached for his pants and trousers that were tossed over the chair. "Several weeks. This unit is one of the last scheduled to head back. Someone needs to clean up."

"Is that why you moved camps?"

"Yeah, I might as well help out. I've got nothing else to do."

"Well, I'm sure some people back at headquarters would argue with you, but I think Dean is glad to have you here."

Harry shrugged, reaching for his shirt and mumbling through the material as he pulled it over his head. "Maybe I just don't know what to do with myself now that Voldemort's gone."

She laughed at him. "Please tell me you aren't going to pitch a tent in our backyard and go out there to plan strategy with yourself."

"If I get that bad, my wife can admit me to St. Mungo's -- you know she's a fancy healer over there, right?"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Ginny Weasley, maybe you've heard of her? Lovely woman, has bright red hair and freckles."

"Mmm, she's not your wife yet," she said, smirking and kissing him once more. "Okay, I'm off. You've distracted me enough."

She walked out of the bedroom, her hips swaying, her ponytail swinging behind her and Harry called out as she walked into the living room. "And don't be shagging Dean while I'm not looking!"

"Behave or I just might!"

 

~*~

 

Ginny waved at the guards stationed at the entrance to Harry's tent, feeling her cheeks heat up as several of the people around camp stopped to stare at her. She really shouldn't have let Harry keep her in bed so long. It looked pretty bad that they'd both slept until almost noon. Still, she was in a good mood and she was determined to ignore it.

She walked purposefully towards the Hospital tent, hearing the whispers follow her, and she started getting more and more paranoid. It wasn't so odd that they'd slept in; they were engaged, after all. She stopped to look up, noting that there seemed to be a flurry of owls delivering mail. Far more than was usual.

Ginny frowned and turned around, seeing that a group of men behind her had given up being subtle and were gaping at her openly. While she realized that she was fairly well known and was used to a bit of attention, she had arrived last night and most of the men and women in the camp were polite and had given her space. After all, they'd had Harry in their camp since just after the final battle when Charlie's unit had started to head back home. And next to Harry, she might as well be any woman off the street wandering around.

"What?" she said when they were still gaping at her, while other people stopped to whisper, everyone looking hesitant. "What is it?"

"Um," one man stepped forward, a piece of parchment in his hand. He looked back once more at his mates, all of whom seemed to urging him on. "I uh. . . You see, a few of my mates have already headed back. . . traveling with Major Dargen's unit."

"Yes," Ginny said, not understand what on earth this could do with her.

"And, uh. . . And we've been getting owls from that camp for the past hour. . ."

"And General Weasley's unit. . ." Another man stepped forward, also holding a piece of parchment. "My brother's in his camp and I've just got an owl too. . ."

"I see," Ginny said, looking up once again and seeing that the owl post hadn't slowed. Years of war caught up with her and she felt her first real surge of panic. "Has something happened at that camp? Something at my brother's camp?"

"Yes, Miss. It seems that they. . ." The first man looked at his letter again, appearing to be trying to choose his words carefully. ". . .they have General Weasley in a hospital tent over there. One of the Lieutenants f-found him in a dungeon last night."

"What?!" Ginny stepped forward, taking the letter from the man's shaking hand. "I just saw Charlie a few days ago. How could he have ended up in a dungeon?"

The man paled, shaking his head as he stuttered. "No, n-not that General Weasley. . . They're saying that they've found General Ron Weasley."

Ginny just stared at him, the letter drifting to the ground as her hand fell slack by her side. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

"There are dozens of letter from both camps. . ." the second man said, stepping forward and handing Ginny his letter. "People are saying they've seen him. . ."

Ginny looked down at the letter in her hand, and then shakily bent down to pick up the one she dropped. She turned to the other people standing there, the group steadily growing larger. "Give them to me." She lurched forward, tripping slightly as she reached for another letter a woman to her left was holding out. "Give them all to me!"

She quickly gathered all the letters, the parchment crumbling in her shaking hands as she tried to choke back a sob. With both hands full of letters, she pushed through the crowd and broke into a run, not even caring about the stares and whispers now as she headed for Harry's tent.

Tears were already running down her face when she spotted Harry talking with Dean outside his tent. He also had a letter in his hand and he looked up at her as she rushed forward. Harry's face was a mask of fury, but still he reached out to her, pulling her into a hug as the letters in her hands crushed against his chest.

"T-they're s-saying. . ." She pulled away, holding out the letters to him and Harry stared at all of them, and then took a few so that Ginny could wipe the tears from her eyes. She blinked at the top letter in her other hand, trying to read the words, but they were nothing but a watery blur. "Harry. . . t-they're s-saying that Ron. . ."

"Ginny, listen to me," Harry said, shaking her a little as he dropped the letters and gripped her arms. "It's a mistake. . . Ron's dead. . ."

She shook her head, pulling free of him to bend down and pick up the letters he'd dropped. She stayed on her knees in the dirt, smoothing out the parchment closest to her. She blinked several times until she was able to read the first few sentences.

"It says that they've seen him."

She reached for another one, shaking the dirt off of it and trying once again to read the words. "This is from Charlie's camp -- Charlie's camp, Harry! Charlie wouldn't let them send letters like this if it wasn't true."

"Ginny." Harry dropped down on his knees next to her, almost ripping the parchment as he tried to pull it out of her grasp. "I don't know how this got started, but. . . it's a mistake. You know how people can get, how rumors can spread. No one wants to believe this more than me, but Ron's dead. You know he is. . ."

"No." She shook her head, reaching down to pick up another letter, but Harry stopped her, gripping her shoulders firmly to prevent her from crawling over to gather the other letters. "No, he's not dead! I know he's not. I never believed he was dead."

"Christ, please don't do this again, Ginny," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's a trick! Maybe someone was able to make some Polyjuice Potion somehow, or it could be a Metamorphmagus. . . but Ron's gone."

"No!" Ginny shoved at him angrily. "It's him! Look at all the letters!" When Harry just stared at her, looking sad, she wrenched herself out of his grasp and managed to crawl over and gather a few more letters. She shoved them back at Harry. "Look at them!"

"I've seen them," Harry said, pulling her to him and trying to stand up. "Come on, love, get up. Come back to the tent and we can sit down and talk about it."

"You're trying to pacify me! Don't do that. . .I hate that!" Ginny yelled, not caring about the scene she was causing as tears still streamed down her face. "We need to go to him! We need to go see him!"

"Fuck it!" Harry yelled, letting Ginny go to run both hands through his hair, making it even messier than it was already. "Someone get me a Portkey!" When everyone stood there, too stunned to act as they stared at Harry and Ginny both still kneeling in the dirt, Harry jumped up, rounding on Dean Thomas. "Now! I want one in my hand in the next five minutes. . ."

"Two Portkeys," Ginny said, still trying to gather up the rest of the letters. She wiped at her eyes, leaving dirt stains across her face as she stared up at Dean pleadingly. "Please, Dean."

"O-okay," Dean nodded, looking at her and blinking back his own tears.

"No way," Harry said, shaking his head. "No way am I taking you there so some nutter can upset you more." He turned back to Dean Thomas, scary in his fierceness. "Don't you dare make her a Portkey!"

"B-but. . ." Dean stuttered, still looking down at Ginny.

"One Portkey! That's it."

"P-please, sir. . . shouldn't we go with you?," one of Harry's regular guards said, stepping forward out of the crowd. "I don't think any of us would feel comfortable letting you go by yourself."

"Fine," Harry said, kneeling back down next to Ginny again. "Just make it fast. I don't want a whole troop going. We won't be gone long."

"Please, Harry, " Ginny said, looking up from one of the letters she'd been reading to plead with him. "Let me go with you! This one says that Charlie's already there with him."

"Yeah, he's probably there having him arrested," Harry said, taking the letter out of her grasp and reading it. He glanced up after a few seconds, shaking his head again. "Ginny, none of this is confirmed. Everyone wants to believe that he's alive. . . but. . ."

"Just let me go with you, let me see!" Ginny said desperately.

"I'm going to be right back," Harry said, reaching out to her and finally helping her up. "Let me go see what's going on and I'll come right back."

"I want to go," Ginny said, knowing that she sounded childlike.

"No, Ginny." Harry said, finally succeeding in helping her up. "Please, just this once, listen to me."

Ginny gripped at the letters tightly. "If it's him, will you come right back and get me?"

"It's not him," Harry said, placing a hand on her lower back and ushering her into his tent. He turned around when Ginny stepped inside the flap, speaking to one of his other guards. "Go to the hospital tent and get her something to help her relax a little."

Ginny piped up when she heard that, looking up from another letter she'd been trying to read. "I don't need--"

"Something mild," Harry said to the guard, and then he turned back to Ginny. "Just to help calm your nerves."

Ginny didn't feel like arguing with him right then, so she chose to ignore him as she went inside the tent and sat at his dining room table. She spread out the letters and started reading writing one by a private in Charlie's camp to his girlfriend in Dean's camp.

It didn't have much information, just saying that there was a rumour that General Ron Weasley had been found in the dungeon of a mansion just north of their camp. She tossed the letter aside and reached for another one, but she wasn't able to read it because Harry had walked back into the tent, carrying a vial of potion Ginny knew she wasn't going to take.

"I'm going," she said looking up from her letter and glaring at Harry.

He tried to hand her the potion, and his pitying look infuriated her. She reached up and knocked the vial out of his hand, feeling a keen satisfaction when she heard it shatter on the floor.

"Bloody hell, Ginny!" Harry snapped, looking from the broken vial and back to her. "I'm trying to help you."

"I am a fully grown woman. I don't need your help!"

"Fine, but you're staying here. This isn't the first time some nutjob has showed up pretending to be Ron, but I'm going to make damn sure it's the last!" Harry said as his cheeks flushed in anger. "I can't go through this every time with you."

Ginny's jaw dropped in indignation. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that it kills me to have to remind you over and over that he's dead when I'm still hurting over it. I know he was your brother. I know you miss him, but I miss him too, Ginny. I wanted to crawl into that grave with him when he died," Harry said, his voice choking in emotion. "If Voldemort hadn't still been around, maybe I would have."

Ginny felt her face go pale. "You don't mean that, Harry."

"I thought about it, more than you'll ever know, and having to constantly remind you that he's gone doesn't help," Harry said, in a voice so serious that Ginny felt a shiver of fear go through her.

"Okay, I'll stay, but promise me you'll come right back and tell what happens," Ginny conceded.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Thank you, I won't be long. I'm sure Charlie already has it handled, but I want to make sure that it's taken care before news reaches Hermione."

"What if it already has?" Ginny asked, having not thought about that in her shock. "She's got a press conference today, you know?"

"Bugger!" Harry said, as he rested his forehead in his palm, obviously thinking. "Write to her now, use one of the express owls so she can be prepared in case the question comes up. Charlie's got his hands full and he doesn't always think about little things like that."

"Okay," Ginny nodded as she got up to get some parchment off Harry's desk. "Hurry back, and if it is--" Harry gave her a look, his face both stern and pained at the same time and Ginny sighed in defeat. "Just hurry back."

Harry nodded, and then walked over to her and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "I'll be quick about it, I promise."

He left quickly, obviously intent on getting out of there before Ginny changed her mind. She watched him walk out of the tent, and it was only after he left that Ginny realized she hadn't the foggiest idea what she was going to say in her letter to Hermione.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	8. Ch 8

Hermione Granger-Weasley, Order of Merlin First Class, Senior Member of the International Magical Warfare Coalition, and the British Ministry of Magic’s Chief Liaison to the Order of the Phoenix.

The very hefty job of Public Relations wasn’t indicated in Hermione’s title, but there she was, yet again, staring out at a sea of reporters and feeling her stomach churn.

“I need a raise,” Hermione mumbled to herself as she dropped the curtain she had been peeking out from and turned around to the hustle and bustle of Ministry officials and Phoenix representatives backstage.

“You make plenty,” Lavender said, as she not too politely dragged Hermione away from the curtain and shoved her into a chair. Her former dormitory mate turned the chair around, and Hermione groaned when she came face to face with her reflection. She made a move to flee, but Lavender gripped her shoulders, forcing her to remain seated in the chair. “Now just stay put. . . I’ll be fast, I promise.”

“No make up,” Hermione said frowning at her reflection, seeing her eyes – tired and world weary – making her look far older than her thirty years.

“A little make up,” Lavender said, and then grabbed a brush off the table in front of Hermione. She wrenched it through Hermione’s wild curls, making her yelp in pain. “Stay put!”

Hermione tried to pull away from her once more, but was rewarded with another tug of her hair as the brush got caught on a stray tangle. “Lavender, I swear. . .If you weren’t my friend, I’d have you fired!”

Lavender laughed. “You always say that. . . The fact of the matter is, there is no one else to do this very risky job and since you seem to be hell-bent on looking your worst most of the time, it falls on my shoulders to make you presentable.”

“People don’t care what my hair looks like,” Hermione grumbled, making a failed attempt to grab for the brush.

Lavender dodged her, and lightly smacked Hermione’s groping hand. “I care what your hair looks like. The press can be brutal. You of all people know that. You don’t want people to think that you’re falling apart, do you?”

“Let them think what they want!” Hermione said defiantly, but she had to admit that Lavender had a point, so she stopped her struggles and decided to put up with the torture. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. What must your Department think about you disappearing for an hour or more every time I have a press conference?”

“They don’t care. . . Most of the time they don’t even notice I’m gone,” Lavender said as she brushed Hermione’s hair. “Maybe we’ll clip it up this time. . . That way we can see your face.”

“Whatever,” Hermione shrugged, now way past caring. “If you’re going to torture me, can you at least have Melody bring me a cup of coffee?”

“Sure thing,” Lavender said, and then turned around, while still gripping the part of Hermione’s hair she intended to clip up. “Melody! Hermione wants a cup of tea!”

Hermione pulled a face, and glared at Lavender in the mirror when she turned around. “You didn’t have to yell it. . . You could have gone and asked her nicely.”

“The last time I left you sitting by yourself you left and I never got you back. . .I’m holding you right here,” Lavender said as she leaned over Hermione and shifted through a small makeup kit on the table in front of her. “Bugger, Hermione, do you see a hair clip in there?”

“Nope,” Hermione huffed, not even bothering to look. “I said coffee, not tea, you know?”

“You don’t want coffee. . .That’s dreadful stuff. Tea’s much better. Coffee will just rattle your nerves.” Lavender gave up her search through the make up box, and shoved it away from her in annoyance. “Forget it, I’ll just use mine.”

Lavender reached up and unclipped her long hair, making shiny blond waves fall into her face. She tucked the strands behind her ears, and then went back to work, using her own clip in Hermione’s short brown curls.

Hermione thought the large, ornate hair clip looked much better in Lavender’s hair, but she just looked away from her reflection. She pulled at a hangnail to distract herself then jumped a second later when Lavender swatted at her hands.

“Stop that! Your nails will never grow if you’re always pulling at them,” Lavender said, now messing with Hermione’s curls, tucking them where she wanted them and then casting a charm to hold them in place. She slipped her wand behind her ear as she came around in front of Hermione, still playing with the wild brown curls that never wanted to stay in place. “Tell me about Roni. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her. How’s she doing?”

“Oh, she’s brilliant,” Hermione said, grateful for the distraction. “She’s talking so well now. . .You’d be amazed. Every day she learns a new word.”

“I need to visit,” Lavender mumbled, an intense frown marring her features as she continued with the very tedious task of making Hermione’s hair presentable. “Is she still into everything?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, smiling slightly. “But, that’s very natural. . .It’s how they learn. I don’t mind it so much. It’s the temper tantrums that upset me. I’m worried that all the attention she gets is making her spoiled.”

“Nonsense,” Lavender said as she took the wand from behind her ear and set it on the table behind her. “I’d be worried if Ron’s daughter didn’t have a temper. . . She wouldn’t be a proper Weasley without one.”

“I guess. . .But I still don’t like it,” Hermione whispered, trying to ignore the pain that hearing Ron’s name always caused. “I’ve been reading up on parenting techniques to help get a toddler’s temper under control, but so far none have worked.”

“Love, you might as well give up on that one. . .I’m telling you. There’s nothing you can do about a Weasley’s temper. Trust me, I know.” Lavender winked at her as she kneeled down, her face a few inches from Hermione’s as she studied her.

“Yes, I suppose you would,” Hermione said, a bit uncomfortable under Lavender’s intense scrutiny, even though she should be used to it by now. Lavender had been doing her hair and make up for years now. “How are the boys?”

“Oh, fine. . .A handful,” Lavender sighed, as she turned around and grabbed a make up brush and a small tray of colors. “But, with George as a father. . . I was asking for it. Still, you’d think after four children I’d have got at least one girl.”

“Are you and George thinking about having another one?” Hermione asked, trying not to wince as Lavender started dusting her cheek with blush.

“We’ve talked about it, but, Lord, Hermione, with my luck. . .I’d end up with another rowdy boy. Be thankful you got a girl. The ONLY girl, I might add. How unfair is that? You got one on your first shot.”

“First and last,” Hermione said and she couldn’t hide the pain in her voice that time.

Lavender gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before she started work again on Hermione’s makeup. “Roni is precious. . .At least one of us gave Molly a granddaughter to fuss over. It’ll be a shame if she ends being the only girl in the whole lot.”

Hermione didn’t answer, because Tonks had showed up with a cup in her hand. “Here you go. . .Melody tried to hand me a cup of tea, but I knew you’d rather have coffee.”

“Oh, bless you,” Hermione said and took the coffee gratefully. She took a sip, noting that Tonks had put just the right amount of cream and sugar in it. “What are you doing down here?”

Tonks shrugged. “I asked to work as security back up and offer you a bit of support. I know how much you hate these press conferences. Oh, I forgot. . .Melody asked me to give this to you.” Tonks handed Hermione a rolled piece of parchment. “One of the express owls just delivered it and she said it was probably urgent.”

“Isn’t it always?” Lavender said dryly, and then her look brightened. She smiled at Tonks mischievously, making Hermione think that George had rubbed off on her after ten years of marriage. “Maybe Tonks will give Roni the girl cousin she so desperately needs.”

“Shhhh, are you mad? There are reporters everywhere,” Tonks whispered, looking horrified. She turned quickly to see if anyone had heard Lavender, but in her haste, her boot caught on the foot of the chair and she tripped, accidentally falling into Hermione. Hermione shrieked and jumped up, causing the coffee in her hands to pour down her front.

“Oh my God, Hermione. . .I’m so sorry! Did it burn you?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Hermione said, pulling her wand from her pocket and casting a cooling charm, because the coffee was indeed burning. “Lavender, why’d you have to do that?”

“I didn’t tell her to fall over,” Lavender said, looking at the scene in horror. “Oh no, Hermione, your robes. . .They’re all stained.”

Lavender grabbed her wand and leaned down to cast a cleaning charm on her robes, while Hermione tried to shake the coffee off the parchment she’d been about to read, but it was hopeless. The words were smeared beyond recognition.

“I hope it wasn’t that important,” Tonks said guiltily, eyeing the parchment in Hermione’s hands.

Hermione stared at the parchment, and was able to make out Ginny’s name at the bottom. “It’s from Ginny. . . She’s probably just letting me know that she made it to Harry’s camp okay.”

“But, what if she ran into trouble? Why else would she send it by express owl?” Tonks said as she took the parchment from Hermione, and used her own wand to cast a cleaning charm on it. “Bugger, I can’t read a thing.”

“It’s fine. . .Harry insisted that part of his security detail escort her there. They wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I told her to write me when she got there and she probably forgot when she saw Harry. . .So she sent it express. I’m sure that’s it,” Hermione said, though years of war had worn on her and she didn’t feel that confident. “But, just to be sure. . .Maybe you ought to see if you can get a Floo connection to Dean’s camp.”

“I don’t know. The Floo network is still acting wonky. They haven’t got it fully up from the last attack on their system,” Tonks said, and then gave another apologetic look to Hermione before she left. “But, I’ll try. . .I’m sorry about your robes.”

Lavender stood up as Tonks walked off. “They’re hopeless. I can’t get all the stains out.”

Hermione’s assistant, Melody, had come up during the excitement and she too looked horrified. “Oh no, Mrs. Weasley, is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, Hermione needs new robes,” Lavender said, obviously assuming that Melody had been talking to her when in fact, she’d been speaking to Hermione. “Fast!”

“You can have mine,” Melody offered.

“No, you’re too tall. . . They’ll drag on the floor and I don’t have time to modify them. She can have mine,” Lavender said, appearing near frantic now.

“That’s not necessary. I have a change of clothes in my office,” Hermione sighed, and out of habit tried to run her fingers through her hair, but Lavender swatted her hand away before she could damage all her hard work. “Melody, would you mind running up and getting them?”

“Right away, Mrs. Weasley,” Melody said, already hurrying off.

“Quickly! The press conference starts in --” Lavender looked at her watch and then yelled after Melody. “ten minutes!”

“She’ll make it,” Hermione said, and then sat down in the chair before Lavender started having a panic attack. “Why’d you have to upset Tonks like that?”

“I know, I’m sorry. . .It’s just, they’ve been dating forever. It’d be nice to have a wedding, don’t you think?” Lavender said wistfully. “The war’s over. What excuses do they have left?”

“You’re worse than Molly,” Hermione said, fully understanding where Tonks was coming from. She and Ron had put off marriage for years, always hesitant to get too settled with a war going on. “They’ll get married when they’re ready.”

Ten minutes later and Hermione, dressed in fresh robes, was standing to the side of a podium setup in the large room the Ministry of Magic used for press conferences. She looked out at people, mentally tallying the number of reporters to be well over a hundred and again she felt her stomach churn.

Ron had once told her that he would picture the reporters naked, with nothing but a pair of shoes on and their Quick Quotes Quills in hand when he was forced into doing press conferences. That image was always far more scary than soothing to Hermione, so she just chose to ignore them all together and focus on the job at hand.

She listened to her introduction, which always seemed long-winded, considering her hefty title and she often thought of trying to shorten it to save the poor man introducing her his breath. Ron would have told her that if she’d just get it over with and run for Minister of Magic, it’d have done the job nicely. Hermione wondered what he would have thought now, when that very suggestion had been proposed to her more than once and had been rumored in the media for the past several months.

“And I remind you to keep your questions to the subject at hand and refrain from asking any questions about Mrs. Weasley’s personal life,” said Tom, a short balding man who worked in Hermione’s department, casting a stern look out towards the audience. “Now that that’s settled, please allow Mrs. Weasley make a short statement before the question and answer session.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Hermione said, putting on a forced smile as she changed places with him at the podium. “And thank you all for being here.” Hermione set a pile of parchment on the podium and began to shuffle through it. “I know that all of us are anxious to get our loved ones home, so I’m going to go over the list of units returning back to London first. Please keep in mind that though the war is over, cleanup and recovery is still a large and very important job. We’re trying to get our Phoenix soldiers home as fast as we can, but we don’t want to neglect the needs of the communities still suffering from the final battles.”

Hermione went over the list of units returning home, reading from the parchment in front of her, ignoring the hands that shot up in the air, as one after another she listed the names of the commanders and the scheduled dates that their units should return home. Once finished, she went over a few more basic things, wanting to remind people that though the war was over, there were still many rouge Death Eaters unaccounted for and it was not the time for everyone to let down their guard.

“Now, I’ll open the floor to questions,” Hermione said, setting her parchment aside and looking around at the sea of hands. “Yes?” she said, pointing to a young, fresh-faced, red-haired woman in the front and purposely ignoring Rita Skeeter who was next to her, looking extra enthusiastic.

“Oh!” The red-haired woman said, looking surprised to have been called upon. “I was wondering, Mrs. Weasley, if Harry Potter will continue to hold his advisor position with the Order, or if there was truth to the rumors that he is thinking of retiring now that the Dark Lord has been vanquished.”

Hermione smiled, a bit taken with the young girl’s excitement and nervousness. “I think that is a question for Mr. Potter and not me. However, as of now, he still holds his position as a Senior Advisor to the Order of the Phoenix and is helping with cleanup and recovery efforts out in the field.”

Hermione pointed to another reporter, a tall man in the back whose hand towered over the others. He lowered his hand and cleared his throat when called upon. “Now that the threat of the Dark Lord and his followers has diminished, will the Order of the Phoenix disband, or will it continue to operate and receive funding from the Ministry?”

“We have no plans of disbanding the Order. It would be naive of us to assume that Voldemort will be the only threat to the Magical and Muggle communities. While our Aurors do an outstanding job of protecting us, we’ve found that having a well-established military is our best defense against larger threats to our security. As you know, getting the Order established and working was a difficult and daunting task. It’d be foolhardy to disband it now that we’ve finally got a military set up and working as well as the Order does.”

“And what of the draft? Will it continue to remain in place?” the man asked as a follow up.

“The need for a draft was necessary during the war, but now that the threat of Voldemort is gone, we’ve suspended it. I wish I could promise you that we won’t ever have a need to reinstate it, but that would be foolish of me. I will say that with the continued financial support given to the Order by many magical nations across the globe, we’ll be able to offer our Phoenix soldiers competitive salaries, benefits, and the opportunity for career growth. With the war over, serving in the Order will give our soldiers the chance to travel, learn, and if need be, protect the Magical community from threats such as the likes of Voldemort. I think that will be enough encouragement for the young people inclined to be soldiers to sign up without having to institute another draft. . . and if not,” Hermione sighed. “We’ll deal with that issue if and when it comes up.”

Hermione paused after the long-winded statement, letting her guard down for a moment as she took a sip of water. That moment was all Rita Skeeter needed. Having never been one to wait to be called on, Rita burst out with her question.

“Tell us, Mrs. Weasley, what is your stance on the reports coming in from General Charlie Weasley’s camp about one of our Phoenix soldiers having been found near death in the dungeon of a known Death Eater hideout last night?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Rita, not liking the glee ringing in her voice, and knowing that the woman was setting her up for something. She’d known the woman too long. Questions were never this cut and dried with Rita Skeeter.

“While I haven’t received intelligence on such reports, and therefore cannot confirm them. . . I am confident when I say that the solider you speak of is very fortunate to have been found alive and will receive the best possible care. General Weasley is the highest ranking officer we have out in the field and I can think of no one more capable of dealing with the situation you just described,” Hermione said, trying to keep the bite of annoyance out of her reply.

“So you can’t confirm reports that the solider in question is rumored to be a high-ranking officer, one believed to be dead for nearly two years now,” Rita asked, smiling broadly as the room feel silent.

Hermione felt her stomach sink, and she knew her face must have gone pale because both Lavender and Tonks stepped from behind the curtain, concern and shock visible on both their faces. She stared at Tonks as she made a slicing gesture across her neck, silently communicating that Hermione should cut the conference off now.

“I already said I can’t confirm the r-reports you speak of,” Hermione said, hating that she had stuttered. She never stuttered during a press conference and the press honed in on that, moving slightly forward like a group of predators about to pounce on weak prey.

“You expect us to believe that you, one of the most powerful women in the Wizarding World, have yet to hear reports of a solider being recovered alive early yesterday evening? A solider who is, in fact, claiming to be your husband, General Ronald Weasley?” Rita Skeeter questioned harshly, all manner of fake sweetness gone from her voice as she obviously basked in the glory of being first to break a huge story, one that even Hermione hadn’t been briefed on. “If that’s true, I for one, question the effectiveness of the Order and the state of its intelligence operations.”

Hermione’s knees buckled. She gripped the podium, her knuckles white with the effort it took to keep herself standing. She tried to find words, but she couldn’t. They were trapped in her throat as her mind reeled. She was a logical person. She knew that is was only a rumor. There had to be a mistake. Ron was dead, and if there was a solider claiming to be him, then he’d have to be an imposter, but her heart leapt anyway. There was always that part of her that somehow refused to believe that Ron had really left her. Hermione was sure that anyone who had ever lost someone dear to them could relate. Death was just too final to accept sometimes.

She must have paused too long, because Lavender and Tonks stepped forward, both of them shielding her as they pulled her not too gently away from the platform. Hermione was even more shocked when Tonks cast a Sonorus charm on herself and spoke.

“Thank you all for coming. . . This press conference is over. If you have any further questions please feel free to stuff them.”

Hermione laughed, she couldn’t help herself, knowing for certain that Tonks was sure to be quoted verbatim in tomorrow’s paper. She’d have to be sure to keep that one.

“Come on, Love,” Lavender said, as she pushed Hermione behind the curtain and then removed the Sonorus charm because her laughter was still echoing over the conference room. “Don’t stop. . . We’re going to your office.”

“Shove off,” Tonks said, as she joined Lavender at Hermione’s side, her wand out as the crowd started to gather around them, many taking pictures, blinding them with the repeated bulb flashes. “Where is your security detail?”

“Here,” a solider said, stepping forward out of the crowd. “Mrs. Weasley gave us strict orders to remain out of the way.”

Tonks flashed her top security clearance badge and growled at the Phoenix officer. “I’m giving you strict orders to do your job and clear these people out of our way before I’m forced to hurt them.”

Hermione saw that the other soldiers in her detail were already doing just that without having to be told. She always hated having to have a security detail wherever she went, but right now she had to admit they came in handy. They had a clear path as they made their way back to Hermione’s office. She still hadn’t said a word, but her mind was quickly winning the battle with her heart. By the time she, Lavender and Tonks made it back to her office, she’d managed to pull herself back together a bit.

“Is the Floo working?” Hermione asked as Tonks shut the door to Hermione’s office.

“No, it’s down. . .I was never able to get in contact with Ginny,” Tonks sighed, running a hand through her short purple hair. “But I did hear the reports about Ron, that’s why I came back to the conference. I confirmed it with intelligence.”

“Confirmed what with intelligence?” Hermione asked, hating that her heart gave another leap of hope.

“There are reports of a man claiming to be Ron being housed in the hospital tent at Major Dargen’s camp. . . Charlie was reported being seen on the premises. Their camps are traveling together, so I’m not surprised,” Tonks said, looking as shaken as Hermione felt. “But the facts are sketchy. Some reports say that Charlie ordered him taken into custody; others say that he didn’t. Hermione. . .I don’t know what to think.”

Hermione didn’t know what to think either. . .But she knew there was only one way she was going find out what was going on.

“Lavender,” she said, turning to her longtime friend and sister-in-law. “Tell Melody I need a Portkey to Major Dargen’s camp.”


	9. Ch 9

Harry Potter was annoyed.

Due to several cock-ups, it had taken more than two hours to get the bloody Portkeys organized and in working order. Thank God it hadn’t been an emergency. A whole town could be burned to the ground in the amount of time it took them to secure six Portkeys.

“Bloody Portkeys,” Harry mumbled as he pushed his way past the small security detail that had accompanied him and stared out towards the camp that was much farther away than Harry would have liked. “How hard is it to get a few coordinates right?”

“It’s pretty far. . . We should have brought brooms,” said one of the soldiers in Harry’s security detail, squinting at the camp in the distance.

“I realize that,” Harry snapped. “Damn, but Ginny is going to have my arse.”

The soldiers chuckled and Harry glared at them. They stopped laughing instantly, but that didn’t help Harry’s sour mood. He should have gone back to his tent and let Ginny know that he’d been waylaid, but he didn’t want to deal with her arguments so he’d simply waited, tapping his foot until the Portkey issue had been sorted out.

“Let’s get going,” Harry said, as he turned and started walking towards the camp without waiting for the others.

The soldiers followed behind him. Technically, one of two of them should have been leading the way in case something should happen, but they knew better then to cross Harry when he was in a bad mood.

Harry hated having to drag a security detail with him wherever he went and it was sure to be one of the things he did away with when he resigned from the Order. Thank God he hadn’t been officially enlisted. Resigning would have been much more difficult if he’d been in their ranks as opposed to just an advisor, not that Order hadn’t tried to enlist him.

They’d even drafted him, but due to his bad eyesight, he hadn’t passed the health examination. Oh, the irony of it. God bless his bad eyesight. He’d waited until he was past the age of twenty-five, and too old to be drafted to get his eyesight fixed with laser surgery. Being raised by Muggles did have some benefits.

Yes, Harry was perfectly happy holding a civilian position. Not that he didn’t respect the Order, because he did. There would still be a war going on if it weren’t for their military backing. Hell, some of his dearest friends had been on the forefront of organizing it. In truth, he’d been there with them, helping with the constant headaches that came from creating a military out of nothing.

He just didn’t think that being held accountable to the rules that he’d helped set up was a good idea when he’d very likely have to break them a hundred times over in order to finally defeat Voldemort.

Sometimes Harry hated being right.

And here he’d thought he was done with the bullshit now that Voldemort was gone. He was going to kill this idiot pretending to be Ron with his bare hands when he got a hold of him.

Maybe a security detail wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Though the blokes with him often looked the other way when he broke the law, he didn’t think they could cover up a murder in the center of a Phoenix camp.

They’d have to make sure he stayed out of trouble. Which was all they were good for most of the time anyway.

“Bugger!”

“What’s that, Sir?” one of the soldiers asked, panting as he came up next to Harry.

“Nothing,” Harry said, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. The solider next to him was the youngest in his detail, a baby-faced, blond-haired bloke from America. “I just didn’t feel like walking ten miles today.”

“Yeah, this sucks,” he huffed, trying to take a breath. “Why’d the Portkey dump us so far away?”

“Because the chaps who made it were morons. . .That’s why.”

“I think you made them nervous.”

“Nice to know they can work under pressure. . .I’m going to kick Dean’s arse for this.”

Brian, the American solider, was silent for a second. It was obvious that he wasn’t sure if he should push it and say more. Harry wasn’t surprised when he finally spoke. Maybe it was because he was American, but Brian had a tendency to say the things the other blokes wouldn’t.

“Sir?” he asked carefully. “Is it just the Portkey? Or is it this guy pretending to be the general that’s got you pissed?”

Harry paused, thinking that being pissed sounded like a pretty good idea right about now, but he’d been around enough American soldiers to know that being pissed didn’t always mean drunk off your arse.

“Yeah, Brian, I’m a bit hacked off about this bloke pretending to be Ron. I really didn’t need the hassle.”

“I never met the general. He died before I transferred here,” Brian said a bit hesitantly. “But, I heard he was a real stand up kinda guy.”

Harry swallowed hard past the lump in his throat that always seemed to form whenever Ron was brought up. He’d tried to work past it, but the pain of Ron’s death had never really gone away. He didn’t think it ever would.

“He was. You would have liked him,” Harry said, smiling despite the pain in his chest. “Everyone liked him. I think his men would have followed him into the fires of hell if he’d asked them to. He was real humble; people didn’t have a hard time talking to him. For some reason, despite all the glory and fame, Ron never thought of himself as all that important. I guess I should have stressed it more before the fool went and got himself killed.”

“You miss him.”

Harry looked at Brain, because that lump was back, nearly knocking the air out of him. People knew better than to ask him about Ron, but Americans weren’t the quickest wands in the lot when it came to things like this.

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying not to choke on his words. “I miss him. He was my best mate for longer than I can remember. Losing Ron was sort of like losing my right arm. You just assume it’ll always be there for you and then you’re bloody lost when it’s gone.”

“That sucks.”

“It does suck,” Harry said, and then he couldn’t help but laugh. “So does this damn walk. I can’t wait until we can Apparate again.”

“I never got my Apparation license. It was banned before I was old enough,” Brain said, still panting from the effort it took to keep up with Harry’s quick steps.

“Then you’re missing out, mate. . .Because it’s a hell of a lot better than Floo travel or damned Portkeys that fools can easily cock up.”

Before Brain could say anything else, Harry reached out and grabbed the collar of Brian’s robes. Harry had felt a current in the air, a faint trace of magic and his instincts had him pulling Brian backwards as he signaled to the other soldiers in his detail to move as well.

The six of them got out of the way just in time. The crackle of magic had been a Portkey, and before their eyes, a large group of people appeared out of thin air.

Harry’s reflexes were well honed, and he had his wand out and trained at the unexpected arrivals. His first instinct was to stun first and ask questions later, but his mind registered the Phoenix robes just in time.

“Don’t stun us,” Harry said in warning, seeing that the soldiers had also drawn their wands. “You’d regret it.”

He saw the recognition register on the soldiers faces as he spoke, and they quickly lowered their wands when they realized that they’d nearly attempted to stun the Hero of the Wizarding World.

“Harry?”

“Shove over, watchit!”

“Oh bugger!”

“That was my toe!”

“Sorry, sorry. . . I’m sorry!”

Harry gapped as the crowd parted, a few of the soldiers hopping on one foot as two women broke through the crowd. His shock was so overwhelming that only years of experience had him preparing for the worse when the blur of purple hair caught his eye. A second later he found himself flat on his back when one of the women in question slammed into him, knocking him off his feet in her haste to get to him.

“It’s okay. . . I know them,” Harry wheezed when he saw that his soldiers had drawn their wands again. Too happy to care about the air being knocked out of him, Harry hugged Tonks to him, laughing. “Wotcher, Tonks.”

“Hey Harry,” Tonks said, pulling up and blushing. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I braced myself when I saw the purple hair.”

“Are you two okay?” Hermione questioned in concern as she reached the two of them and leaned down to help Tonks up. “Honey, you really need to be more careful. You’re lucky Harry’s detail didn’t stun you.”

“I know, I know. . . I’m sorry,” Tonks said as she stood and then helped Harry, who was still laughing. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Shocked, but fine,” Harry said, and then dusted at his robes, which were now filthy. “What in the world are you two doing here?” Hermione winced slightly, and Harry reached out to pull her to him before she could speak, crushing her in a fierce hug. “It doesn’t matter. . .It’s just good to see you!”

Hermione curled into him, her hands gripping tightly at his robes as she mumbled against his chest. “I’ve really missed you. . .You know I wanted to come and be with you after the final battle.”

“I know, love. . . Responsibility’s a bitch sometimes.”

Hermione swatted his shoulder, her voice wavering. “Watch your mouth. . . What will the lads think?”

“I’m not running for Minister of Magic. . .I can say what I want.” Harry laughed, as he leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of Hermione’s head. “It’s been a bloody long time. . .Too long.”

“I know. Roni misses you,” Hermione said, pulling away and smiling at him, her eyes shinning. “She never forgets you.”

“Good to know,” Harry said as he studied her face, seeing that Hermione had makeup on and her hair, though a bit out of place now, was neatly styled. “Wow, you’re all dressed up. ”

“Ugh, Lavender,” Hermione grumbled. “You know she loves to torture me.”

“Right, the press conference,” Harry said, wanting to smack his forehead. “What are you doing here? Those things can take forever.”

“It was cut short,” Hermione said, and then a smirk played on her lips. “Tonks politely told the reporters that they could stuff their questions.”

Harry wanted to laugh, but he didn’t need Hermione’s brains to figure out why a Portkey had dropped practically right on top of him. He groaned out loud. “Didn’t you get Ginny’s letter? You didn’t need to leave your conference for this mess. I’m handling it.”

“Oh, is that what the letter was about?” Hermione asked as she pulled away to dust at her robes.

Harry looked to Tonks who had groaned audibly when the letter was mentioned. “Yeah. . .Why, what happened to it?”

“The letter sort of met with an accident,” Tonks said, wincing.

Harry adored Tonks, so he tried to hide his disappointment. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to end up dealing with something that was bound to be painful. “So, how’d you find out?”

“Rita Skeeter was nice enough to let me know.”

“That bitc--”

“The lads, Harry!” Hermione reprimanded, and Harry couldn’t help but get a little bit of amusement out of it. At this point in his life, there were very few people who had the nerve to reprimand him for anything.

“Relax, Hermione, they’ve heard worse.”

“No doubt, but you should be a better influence. They look up to you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Can we focus, please? What did Rita say?”

“She was horrid as usual. I’d rather not relive it, especially since it’ll probably be plastered across the paper tomorrow,” Hermione said, looking miserable. “We weren’t able to find out much about the situation here. Do you know what’s going on?”

“All I know is that there’s some bloke claiming to be Ron holed up in the hospital wing here. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if Charlie’s had him arrested. His camp is just back that way,” Harry said, pointing towards the camp that looked like nothing but a small speck from where they were standing. “I’m sure he handled it, but I just wanted to make sure.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “It’s so odd. . . The war’s over. What could he gain by pretending to be Ron?”

Harry shrugged. “Who knows? There are still Death Eaters unaccounted for, lots of them, and I’m sure they’re out for blood.”

Hermione considered his words, and then bit at her lip as she stepped closer to him. “I hate this. Why do they have to pick Ron of all people?”

Harry sighed. This was just what he wanted to avoid. It wasn’t the first time someone had shown up claiming to be Ron, and Harry knew that it upset Hermione terribly every time. “Why don’t you head to Charlie’s camp and let me deal with this situation, Hermione?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. They need to know that it won’t get to me. For all we know, they could be doing this to upset us. If they see me hiding, it could happen again. I won’t let them get revenge by doing this.”

Ever practical, Hermione’s reasoning made sense as usual. “Fine, then let’s get it over with.”

They headed out towards the camp. With Hermione and Tonks along with Hermione’s security detail, which was much larger than Harry’s, they made an imposing group. Harry hadn’t wanted to make this big of an entrance, but it couldn’t be helped. By the time they reached the camp they were all breathless from the long walk. Harry made a point to step to the front of the group when the guards jerked to attention looking apprehensive as they eyed their fellow soldiers, all of who wore special emblems on their robes signifying their appointment as Security personal.

“M-Mr. Potter. . .Sir,” one of the guards stuttered, his eyes growing wide as he looked from Harry to Hermione who had stepped up next him. “Mrs. Weasley! This is a surprise. We weren’t notified that you were coming.”

“We didn’t have time to send an owl,” Hermione said in a very businesslike tone. “I’m afraid that we both headed over here in a bit of a rush.”

“To see General Weasley,” The guard said excitedly. “Of course. Yes! He’s still in the hospital tent. Would you like me to show you where it is?”

Harry and Hermione exchanged confused looks. They’d both assumed that Charlie had handled the situation, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Something wasn’t right and it caused an unsettling feeling to bubble in Harry’s stomach. “We received reports that General Charlie Weasley had reported to the camp to deal with this issue. Were we misinformed?”

It felt sort of strange to refer to Charlie with his full title. Since Ron died, General Weasley had been enough since there was no longer the confusion issue of two generals sharing the same last name. Nostalgia hit Harry out of nowhere and again he was resentful of the entire situation.

“No, Sir, you weren’t misinformed. He was here earlier. I believe he headed back to his camp to make arrangements for the general to be transferred there so he could be closer to his brother. You understand, I’m sure.”

Harry frowned, and looked to Hermione again. Her face showed no emotion, but Harry saw the deep wrinkle of concentration on her forehead and he knew this news was as unsettling to her as it was to him. Harry couldn’t imagine any imposter being cunning enough fool Charlie. It made him fear for his friend’s safety. Though Charlie was capable of throwing off the Imperious Curse, you never could be too sure. “Tonks, would you go check on Charlie for us,” Harry said, keeping the string of fear out of his voice as he turned to Tonks who was also frowning in concern. “Take some of the lads with you. I’m sure the soldiers here wouldn’t mind getting you lot some brooms, would you?”

“No, n-not at all,” the guard said, looking more than a little nervous. “Adrian can show you where we store them.”

“Good,” Harry said, making eye contact with Tonks again. “Report back as quickly as you can.”

Tonks nodded and then quickly followed after the other Guard as several members of both Harry’s and Hermione’s detail trailed behind her. Harry knew that if anyone would be able to tell if Charlie was under the Imperious, it was Tonks. No one was closer to Charlie than she was. The two of them had been involved since before Harry had left Hogwarts, though very few people knew about Tonk’s romantic relationship with the general. It was a closely guarded secret in the Weasley family, though why it was a secret, Harry had never quite figured out.

“Do you mind taking us to see the general?” Harry asked, finding himself unable to say Ron’s name as he turned his attention back to the guard.

“Of course not,” he said as his chest swelled with pride and turned around to the large crowd that had gathered while they’d sorted out everything. Everyone was pointing and staring at both Harry and Hermione, and though Harry was used to it, he wasn’t in the mood. “Make way,” said the guard, his voice echoing over the crowd.

Harry and Hermione’s own guards went a long way towards clearing the crowd so they could make their way to the hospital tent. Hermione did stop to shake hands with many of the soldiers, smiling sweetly, ever the politician. Harry was too unnerved to be social, and it was a well-known fact that Harry Potter wasn’t the most approachable wizard in the world, so the soldiers didn’t seem surprised when he brushed past them. In fact, they gave him a wide berth, obviously intimidated, which was fine by him. He was the first one to reach the hospital tent, and he was too impatient to wait for Hermione as he lifted the flap and stepped in.

“Keep an eye on Hermione,” he said to his guards who had automatically followed him in. “Let her take her time with the soldiers. I’ll be fine.”

The guards nodded and stepped out of the tent, obviously sensing Harry’s need to deal with this situation privately. He turned back around and immediately saw the man posing as Ron lying on a hospital bed, sound asleep. Harry’s breath caught as he looked at him. His red hair was mussed, his long frame was lanky like Ron’s had been in school as opposed to the great hulk of man he had been before he’d died, but the man’s face was an exact replica of Ron’s. He looked a little bit older, a little more world-weary than Harry remembered, but there was no doubt that this man could be Ron’s twin and it shook Harry to look at him. None of the others had looked this much like Ron. It was more than just his appearance; it was something unnamable that made the ache in Harry’s chest almost unbearable. The man’s hand was thrown over the side of the bed, reminding Harry of the way Ron had slept. Even the gentle snores drifting across the hospital tent sounded like Ron.

Harry was still staring when the hospital flap opened and he heard Hermione’s choked gasp. He turned to see Hermione looking at the man on the cot, her face showing the same horrified fascination that Harry felt.

“Oh my God,” Hermione whispered, her eyes never leaving the cot. “Harry, he looks. . .”

“I know. I don’t know how they did it, but it’s scary. If I didn’t know better. . .” Harry shook his head, unable to finish the sentence.

“You don’t think that--”

“No, I don’t,” Harry said, hearing the hope in Hermione’s voice and hating the man on the cot for it. “It’s a trick, Hermione.”

She nodded, still staring at the man as she bit at her lip. He could see the longing in her eyes, the heartache that was almost palpable in the air around her. As much as Harry missed Ron, it was nothing in comparison to Hermione’s suffering. He knew that though she gave an outwardly courageous appearance, Hermione had never recovered from losing Ron, and in honesty, Harry didn’t think she ever would.

They were both still a bit awestruck when someone came around the corner of the hospital tent. The woman shrieked in surprise when she saw the two of them. Harry’s eyes narrowed, and he couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. “Gabrielle?”

“Oui, Monsieur Potter. . . W-we were not expecting you,” she said in heavily accented English. “’Ow are you?”

“I’ve been better,” Harry said, his eyes drifting back to the man on the cot who stirred from the commotion. “What are you doing here?”

“Y-you know I transferred from General Weasley’s camp,” she stuttered, looking from Harry and Hermione back to the man on the cot. “Where is General Weasley? Did he send you ‘ere?”

“No, he didn’t,” Harry said, his eyes narrowed at Gabrielle to determine if she was also under the influence of some spell, because there was no missing the protectiveness she had for the man on the cot as she stepped in front of him. “Gabrielle, why are you protecting this man?”

She hesitated, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione again before she turned back to the man on the cot, shaking him gently. “Wake up, general. . . You ‘ave more visitors.”

“Come on, luv, just five more minutes,” the man mumbled, turning over in the cot so that his back was facing them. Harry could see the scars that covered the expanse of it and he wasn’t surprised when Hermione gripped at his arm tightly, her fingers digging into his skin and Harry wrapped a hand around her waist in fear of her collapsing.

Harry knew it wasn’t the scars that were getting to Hermione, it was the voice, so like Ron’s that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. How many times had Harry gone into Ron’s tent to wake him, only to have Ron mutter those exact same words? Back then, Harry would swat him with a pillow and remind him that he wasn’t Hermione.

Gabrielle shook the man again, gently urging him to get up as she looked at Harry and Hermione apologetically. “’E’s been battling a fever. I can’t get it to go down completely.”

Finally, the man seemed to come alert and he turned back to Gabrielle, looking dazed and worn as he blinked heavy-lidded eyes at her. “Wha’ is it?”

“Visitors,” Gabrielle said, looking back towards the opening of the tent, and the man followed her eyes.

The man stiffened visibly when his eyes rested on the two of them. There was an awkward silence in the room, and Harry saw the man staring at Hermione with such longing that it terrified him. He immediately stood in front of her in a protective gesture.

“You haven’t talked to Charlie, have you?” the man said, looking heartsick.

“We sent our people to check on the general,” Harry said, his voice icy as he approached the cot. “You have to know that you’ll never get away with this. I’m going to make sure you suffer for doing this to the Weasleys.”

The man rolled his eyes in a gesture very reminiscent of Ron. “Please, Harry. Don’t make me do this. I already went through this with Charlie. Can’t you just tell it’s me?”

“Sorry, but no. I’ll admit that you’ve done a very good job of impersonating Ron Weasley, except you forgot one thing. The man you’re pretending to be is dead and buried. Many saw him die, including General Weasley.”

The man sighed, shaking his head. “Forget it, you’re still a prat. I could spout off a million things and you’d never believe me.” He looked around Harry to Hermione. “Please, luv, don’t make me go through this.”

“Don’t talk to her!” Harry shouted, coming up to the bed and grabbing the man by the shoulders, shaking him and making him groan in pain. “Don’t you dare make her suffer!”

“Get off me you arsehole!” Ron shouted back, shoving at Harry with surprising strength. “Christ, nothing changes. You’re still a cynical bastard.”

Gabrielle gasped, and tried unsuccessfully to pull Harry off the man. In her panic, she turned to Hermione who seemed to be frozen in some sort of horrified state. “Please, Mrs. Weasley, this is the real Ron Weasley. Don’t let him do this. ‘E is very sick.”

“Prove it,” Hermione said, snapping out of shock as she also walked towards the cot. “Harry stop. If he’s Ron like he says he is, he’ll easily be able to prove it.”

Harry and the man stopped struggling, and Harry felt sick as he looked down at the mirror image of his best mate. “You better make it good,” Harry warned him, his voice shaking from the fury he felt. He didn’t want to agree to it at all, but if this was what Hermione needed to believe that the man wasn’t who he said he was, Harry was willing to offer her that. “You’ve got about one minute before I have you arrested.”

The look-alike seemed to consider his words for a second, before he turned to Hermione, his blue eyes boring into hers and giving Harry the impression that both of them were unaware of anyone else in the room. “You lost your virginity to me the summer before seventh year in my bedroom at Grimmauld place.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he turned to Hermione when he heard her gasp of surprise. “I shared a room with Ron at Grimmauld Place. You couldn’t have lost your virginity to him there.”

“You were still with the Muggles,” the man supplied. “It happened about a week before you got there. Go on and ask her, Harry, she’ll tell you it’s true.”

Harry was still looking at Hermione, and he could tell without asking that it was true. Her eyes had turned glassy and tears rolled down silently down her face as she continued to look at the man on the cot. “Hermione?”

“Tell me something else,” she whispered as more tears rolled down her face.

Harry turned back to the man on the cot, and he saw that his blue eyes had also turned glassy as he continued to look at Hermione and his voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “You wore blue knickers that night and I nicked them while you were sleeping. I hid them in the bottom of my trunk. If you still have my old school things, you’ll find them in the bottom compartment. Harry knows the one I’m talking about, we used to hide Ogden’s in there during our seventh year.”

That statement made Harry’s knees buckle, because Ron had hidden Ogden’s in his trunk during his seventh year. More than that, Harry had found a pair of blue knickers in that hidden compartment, only Ron had claimed they’d belonged to someone else.

“You said those were Parvati’s,” Harry said in shock.

“Well, I couldn’t tell you they were Hermione’s,” the man smirked, breaking eye contact with Hermione to stare at Harry. “We were seeing other people, she would have killed me if I’d told you we’d been sneaking around together.”

“I-I looked everywhere for those knickers,” Hermione said, her voice quivering. “You prat.”

“Sorry, luv. What can I say? Teenage wizards do daft things like that.”

“Oh my God,” Hermione said, and then flung herself at the man. “It’s you!”

He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him as he buried his face in her hair and spoke to her. “I’m so sorry. . . So very sorry.”

Hermione’s whole body shook with racking sobs as she clung to him. Harry saw that the man was also crying while he stroked Hermione’s hair, speaking soothingly to her. It was too much, Harry felt faint and he stumbled back, sitting blindly in one of the chairs by the bed. Breathing was hard, and he focused on taking in huge gasps of air as he watched the two on them, both crying and clinging to each other. It couldn’t be true. Ron was dead. Harry had spent two years trying to come to terms with losing his best mate, and now this man was here claiming to be him. It didn’t make sense.

“Charlie saw you die,” Harry burst out as he shook his head in denial and stared at the man claiming to be Ron. “He recovered your body. We buried you for Christ’s sake. You can’t be Ron.”

Hermione didn’t let go as he tried to sit up, wincing under Hermione’s added weight. He looked over her shoulder to Harry, his eyes still watery. “It was Colin. We both took Polyjuice Potion. I told him to stay put, but he took off the other way to act as a decoy like I used to do for you.” He reached under his pillow and pulled out some dog tags, the silver chain dangling in the air between them. Harry took the dog tags from him and stared down at Colin’s name and information engraved on them. “I couldn’t get back to him in time. I tried Harry, but I got hit from behind and by then it was too late anyway.”

“Oh shit,” Harry rasped, still staring at the information on the dog tags feeling his own eyes sting. “You were captured.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, and then leaned down to bury his face in Hermione’s short hair again, taking a deep breath as he held onto Hermione who was still crying on his shoulder, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said to her in a voice thick with emotion. “You don’t know how many times I wished for a way to go back and change things.”

Harry buried his face in his hands as he fought back the tears that threatened as waves of guilt and disbelief washed over him. It couldn’t be true, Ron couldn’t be alive, but Harry had to admit that the evidence was pretty conclusive. Ron had used information that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would prove to both of them that it was him, but it was more than that. Harry couldn’t explain it, but even in his desperation to have Ron back, none of the other impersonators had Ron’s energy, they didn’t carry that unspoken pulse of life that was unique to Ron, but the man in front of him did. Ron was right, he was a cynical bastard, but even so, Harry still knew his best mate and that meant that he’d failed him hopelessly. Harry had been on a high since his defeat of Voldemort, but all the glory of knowing he’d finally freed the world from a madman’s wrath vanished in the wake of the knowledge that Ron had suffered horribly while he’d done nothing to help. He didn’t even try, and he suddenly didn’t feel like being in the room anymore.

“I’ll leave you two,” Harry said as he stood up. “I’ll just--”

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Ron said as he sat up straighter in the cot, still holding Hermione who seemed to refuse to let go of him. “You had no way of knowing. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“Yeah, well, you were always too forgiving for your own good.”

A smile quirked at the corner of Ron’s lips, making him look much younger than he should with the fine lines on his face that hadn’t been there the last time Harry had seen him. “And you were always too much of a martyr for your own good. . . It’s really time you grew out of this shit, don’t you think?”

Harry gave a broken laugh that came out sounding more as a choked sob as he continued to fight the sting of tears in his eyes. Harry Potter didn’t cry, not anymore, not for a very long time. “Old habits die hard.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron said, tilting his head to study Harry. “You really going to walk out without even saying hi, or kiss my arse, or anything? And to think I fought so fucking hard to stay alive thinking that you might miss me.”

Harry growled at Ron, the sting almost more than he could bear as he squeezed his eyes shut to fight it. “We both know why you’re alive,” he said, opening his eyes for a brief second to look in Hermione’s direction. “You two were always disgustingly mad about each other.”

“Harry, you know Ron had more than one reason to fight,” Hermione whispered as she pulled away and brushed at the tears still streaming down her cheeks. She ran a hand lovingly through Ron’s hair and then stood up, and turned back to Harry, putting her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “Stop being a bastard and give your best mate a hug.”

Harry continued to take deep breaths, his eyes closed tight as Ron’s laughter filled the air, and even while he was choked with guilt it was probably the nicest sound Harry had ever heard, a sound he’d missed more than anything else, one that up until a few minutes ago, he thought he’d never hear again. He was still struggling with the emotions welling up inside of him when he heard the rustle of bed sheets and the heavy footfalls a man with far too large feet. And then that unexplained life energy that was exclusively Ron’s filled his personal space and large hands were pulling him forward until Harry was wrapped in a warm brotherly embrace. He crumbled as his head fell to Ron’s shoulder and he did the one thing he hadn’t done since the day he thought they’d buried Ron. . . He cried.

“I’m sorry,” Harry choked, as he retuned the hug, nearly crushing Ron as he pulled him closer and marveled that he was hugging his best mate again when for two years he’d berated himself for being stupid and manly and not doing it enough when he’d had the chance. “I’ve missed you.”

Ron patted his back in a way only an old friend could and Harry could hear the mixture of happiness and pain in his voice as he whispered. “I’ve missed you too, you prat.”


	10. Chapter 10

Ron couldn’t sleep. 

 

The bed was too soft, he told himself as he flipped over onto his side and stared at Hermione, who was sleeping next to him. Her features were so peaceful and relaxed. He wondered if he had ever slept like that, undisturbed by nightmares and irrational fear. 

 

For two years Ron had slept on a floor with one eye open, never able to fully relax his guard when he could always hear the distant sounds of the Death Eaters who were camped out in the house built above the dungeon that was his home for far too long. Old habits die hard and even when camped out in the center of a large Phoenix camp, he couldn’t shake the mind numbing dread that filled him at the thought of relaxing his guard. He almost missed the fever that had plagued him for the past two days. At least it let him rest. Now he was feeling much better and because of that sleep was almost impossible. 

 

Unable to stare at Hermione as he thought about how fucked up he was Ron rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. How long had he dreamt of being able to see Hermione again? Now that he had her at arms reach, he was holding back. Did he have a right to subject her to the shell of a man he was now? 

 

Did he have a choice? 

 

They had a daughter now. That was something Ron hadn’t planned on, something that hadn’t even entered his wildest fantasies. He’d yet to ask Hermione how she’d ended up pregnant when for as long as they’d been involved, she’d been beyond responsible when it came to taking her Birth Control Potion. In fact, he hadn’t asked about their daughter at all and Hermione wasn’t stupid. She was starting to sense that something was wrong.

 

Now beyond upset, Ron quietly got out of bed. He’d slept in his trousers, something else that Hermione hadn’t missed. He skipped a shirt as he padded barefoot out of the bedroom of the large General tent he and Hermione were sharing with Harry and Ginny. 

 

“Shhh,” he heard his sister giggling from the closed door across the hall. “You’ll wake Ron and Hermione.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Harry said, also laughing. “They’re probably doing the same thing we are.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, and Ron could hear the mirth still heavy in his voice. “You know those two. They were always like rabbits. I’m still traumatized from the time I walked in on them in that shitty strategy tent Ron used to have.”

 

“I hope they are at it,” Ginny said, sounding worried. “Two years is such a long time. I can’t imagine being in Hermione’s shoes. She was in mourning forever and then suddenly Ron just shows up. It must be so weird for both of them.”

 

Ginny didn’t know the half of it, but she had hit closer to home than anyone else. Ron was at a complete loss as to how to piece back a life he’d completely given up on. He’d been a prisoner for too long, he didn’t even know how to wear the General shoes he used to love. Let alone the shoes of a father, which he hadn’t even tried on before. 

 

The sounds of camp reached him and unable to listen to his sister and Harry discuss him, let alone whatever else they were probably up to, Ron walked towards the fresh night air. Two soldiers snapped to attention as he lifted the flap of the tent. 

 

“At ease, soldiers,” he said absentmindedly, surprising himself at how easily the words came back to him. He stared up at the stars for a second, inhaling the clean air and savoring it in a way very few would understand. He turned back to the soldiers, who both looked away quickly, as it was downright obvious that they had been eyeing the scars on his back. “Pretty bad, huh?”

 

“N-no, sir,” one of the soldiers said, shaking his head quickly. “You wear the scars of battle well.”

 

Ron laughed bitterly. What typical solider bullshit and to think he had once bought into that crap. It was easy to do when you weren’t traumatized by the memory of actually receiving the battle wounds. 

 

“Thanks, mate,” Ron said, and then tilted his head towards Charlie’s tent. “I think I’ll head over to the Lady Dragon’s tent if anyone asks where I’m at.”

 

The soldiers both laughed, one of them speaking with a nostalgic smile on his face. “I forgot you used to call General Weasley that.”

 

Ron narrowed his eyes, studying the solider. “Collins, that you, lad?”

 

The solider flushed in embarrassment. “It’s me, sir.”

 

“Wow, you grew into yourself,” Ron said, shaking his head. “You were nothing but a wet behind the ears private when I last saw you.”

 

“War does that to you,” Collins said, shrugging. “It’s real good to have you back, General. The boys and I never recovered when they tore our camp down. Serving under General Weasley has been an honor, but it hasn’t been the same.”

 

“You staying in the service?” he couldn’t help asking, because Collins had been a brilliant private. Ron saw from the bars on his uniform that he was a lieutenant now and wasn’t surprised. “We could use you.”

 

“Yeah, I think I might.”

 

Ron nodded. “Maybe we’ll work together again.”

 

“So you’re staying, then?”

 

Ron smiled, surprised at how certain he was. “Yeah, I’m staying. I missed you lot.”

 

“Good to hear, sir,” Collins said, smiling broadly. “We’ve all been hoping you’d stay, what with Harry Potter leaving and all.”

 

Ron waved his hand distractedly. “He’s full of shit. He won’t quit. He doesn’t know what else to do anymore than I do.”

 

“We’ll see. The last few years have been rough, sir,” Collins said soberly. “The roughest I’ve seen.”

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t too sweet for me either.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to say--”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron said, waving him off. “You know you always have permission to speak freely, lad.”

 

“Right,” Collin’s nodded, his smile back. “It’s real good to have you back in the ranks.”

 

“Good to be back,” Ron said, turning towards Charlie’s tent. “You know where I’ll be.”

 

Ron walked across the camp, acknowledging the few soldiers still up and about as they saluted him. He’d forgotten the high that power could give him. It had gotten to his head at first, when he’d been far too young to hold such a powerful position. Being good at strategy had made him a prime candidate for leadership when they had first put together the military. He had been so excited at the start, had savored the thrill that had come from being powerful when for so long, he had lived in the shadows of friends and family who were so much smarter and talented than he had been. It hadn’t taken him long, however to realize that his decisions were life and death decisions that didn’t just affect him, but thousands of witches and wizards. The first time he saw the results of a battle he’d planned had been an icy cold wake up to the military world and war in general. The screams of those dying soldiers had never stopped haunting him. He had made sacrifices in his career, had made decision that cost lives, but he never made them rashly and always, always thought of his troops before all else. If sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, he made them, but he always hurt over them. Others got caught up in the high of power and people died needlessly because of that. He had long since learned that winning battles brought no glory if the losses were too high. Ron wasn’t willing to turn over his men to a power-hungry arsehole who didn’t know the pains of war like Ron did. If anything, his time as a prisoner only served to motivate him more. Perhaps he did wear his scars well and he found that he wasn’t even remotely ashamed of them as he walked bare-chested through the camp towards Charlie’s tent. 

 

If only the decisions concerning his personal life were so cut and dry that he could make them without any real thought. But then, Ron had always been better at being a General than being a boyfriend to Hermione. 

 

No, not boyfriend, he thought. . .Husband. 

 

“General Weasley,” one of Charlie’s guards said loudly as he and his comrade snapped to attention. “What can we do for you this evening, sir?”

 

“The Lady Dragon up?” he asked, noting the smiles on the guards’ faces. What had Charlie done without Ron around to keep him level headed? It was a thought Ron had had often while he lay on the floor of the dungeon looking up at the moldy ceiling. He hadn’t known what he would have done if he’d lost his fellow General and brother, the one who had always made sure Ron’s feet stayed firmly on the ground. He wondered if Charlie felt the loss like he would have. “Or is he sleeping like the other old ladies.”

 

“He’s up and doesn’t like being called Lady Dragon, boy.”

 

Ron smiled at his brother, who was standing at the flap to his tent, bare-chested like Ron, wearing only his black military trousers and smoking a large, very expensive cigar. 

 

“I didn’t mean to insult your delicate sensibilities, General. I wouldn’t want you to have vapors.”

 

“Shove it, Fairy Princess,” Charlie said, laughing as he patted Ron affectionately on the shoulder. “I never knew how much I’d miss your smart mouth until it was gone. Come on in.”

 

Ron walked into Charlie’s tent, which was as spacious as the one Ron was rooming in. “You got another cigar, old man?”

 

“I might,” Charlie said, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t smoke.”

 

“I do now,” Ron said, shaking his head sadly. “Bad habit I picked up in prison camp. One of many, I’m afraid.”

 

“You’re shitting me,” Charlie said, looking shocked. “They gave you cigars in that shithole.”

 

“I wish,” Ron said, laughing. “But no, they weren’t in the habit of distributing expensive foreign cigars. Just cigarettes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Maybe to kill us off faster,” Ron said, shrugging. “How the hell should I know? But when there were lots of prisoners, there were always cigarettes. It cut down on instances of spontaneous magic, that’s for sure. Death Eaters aren’t stupid, unfortunately.”

 

“You gonna tell me about that camp,” Charlie asked, reaching into his desk and pulling out a cigar box. 

 

“Yeah, right after I gouge my own eyes out,” Ron said, taking a cigar from Charlie. He lit it by snapping his fingers, which made Charlie gasp out loud in surprise. “Stop gaping. I don’t have a new wand yet.”

 

“How the hell did you do that?” Charlie asked, still staring at him in shock. “I can’t even summon a book without my wand.”

 

“Try two years of rage and fury to help you harness spontaneous magic at will,” Ron said, taking a large puff of the cigar and savoring it. They were one of Charlie’s few indulgences and they were very nice. Ron had to wonder if cigars would piss Hermione off, because it was a habit he could certainly pick up. “You learn all sorts of neat tricks.”

 

To prove his point, he summoned one of Charlie’s books off his bookshelf. It flew to the desk and then Ron willed it to open, unable to resist smiling when Charlie looked down at the open pages. His frown turned into a grin when he stared at the chapter titled, _Habits of Female Dragons in Heat._

 

“You dickhead,” Charlie said, letting out a thunderous laugh that nearly shook the tent. Ron had forgotten how loud Charlie’s laugh was. In fact, he’d forgotten what laugher sounded like, period. “Still, I’m really impressed. You think you can teach others how to do that?”

 

“Considering what I had to go through to learn it,” Ron said, arching an eyebrow and taking another puff of the cigar. “ I’d rather not. I doubt they’d appreciate the pain and humiliation brought on by torture, even if it does make you pissed off enough to start small fires.”

 

“You want a drink?” Charlie asked. “I got the good stuff.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” Ron said, still smiling. “That’s why I came. My tent is decidedly lacking in liquor.”

 

“I tried to stock you, but Hermione didn’t think it was a good idea,” Charlie said, wincing. “She told me I was out of my gourd for even thinking of it.”

 

“You probably are,” Ron agreed as Charlie got up and went to the bar he had in the corner of his office. Ron’s office had a bar too, only there were no bottles lined on the shelf, where as Charlie’s had dozens. “I may not stop drinking once I start.”

 

“Is it that bad?” Charlie asked, turning to him. “You want local stuff or import?”

 

“Give me some of that Romanian whiskey you’ve always got,” Ron said, and then leaned forward to tap his cigar on the ashtray. “And yes, it’s that bad.”

 

“Charlie?” 

 

Both men turned to the door, seeing Tonks standing there in nothing but one of Charlie’s shirts that reached her thighs. Ron turned back around, feeling himself flush a little. 

 

“Sorry, love, did we wake you?” Charlie said, not sounding nearly as uncomfortable as Ron felt with seeing his brother’s bird half naked. 

 

“You woke the whole bloody tent, you idiot. Your laugh can wake the dead.” George said, walking past Tonks. “You lot are having a party and didn’t wake us.”

 

“Married men don’t get to drink,” Ron said on instinct, feeling his face flush worse when he realized his error. Making fun of Fred, George and Bill for being married had been Charlie and Ron’s long time joy, but it was with sickening dread that Ron realized he had lost that privilege forever. “Don’t say it.”

 

“We’re telling, Hermione. Married man,” George said, beyond amused as he patted his shoulder. 

 

“Does it count if I wasn’t there?” Ron asked, leaning back in his chair to stare up at George, who was as bare-chested as Ron and Charlie. 

 

“Do you want it not to count, arsehole?” George said, surprising Ron with his anger. “That woman mourned you for two years. She’s been raising your baby alone and working at saving the world in the process. You should be kissing the ground she walks on.”

 

“Can you ease up just a little?” Ron said incredulously. “Give this General a few days to get used to the idea, maybe?”

 

“If you were a real man you’d be in bed with her right now,” George said, taking the drink Charlie was about to hand Ron. He downed in one large gulp, and then coughed in shock, his words barely audible as he tried to breathe “Christ, what is this shit?”

 

“Got that, Georgina?” Charlie said, laughing at George as he coughed and wheezed. “This tent is for Generals, not girls in Development.”

 

“Well, that took the wind out of his sails,” Ron said, watching as George tried to regain his composure. “What was it you were lecturing me on? Something about being a man, I think.”

 

“Serious, what is this?” George said, looking at his empty glass. “And where can I buy it?”

 

“You can’t,” Charlie said, turning around to hand Ron a glass and then refilling George’s. “The Romanian government regulates it. You’d have better luck smuggling out a full grown Hungarian Horntail than this stuff, but occasionally they’ll gift it to dignitaries and royalty. . . Of which, you are neither.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ron offered congenially. “I always thought he was a royal pain in the arse.”

 

“Not picking on my brother, are you, General?” Fred asked, squeezing Tonk’s arse as he walked past her. “Looking good there, Tonks.”

 

“Do you mean this one?” Charlie said, tilting his thumb towards George. “No, we don’t pick on girls. But, I will pick on you if you grab her arse again.”

 

“Touchy,” Fred said, pulling a face at Charlie. “Tonks is one of the lads, aren’t you, love.”

 

“Call her love again,” Charlie said, his eyes narrowed. “I dare you.”

 

“As touching as this gruesome display of male ego is,” Tonk said, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to bed before I’m forced to hex someone for forgetting that I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”

 

Fred laughed. “Go on, tell him you love it.”

 

Tonks grinned and then turned to leave, tossing over her shoulder. “Nah, I like you too much. He has a weird jealous streak and men have wound up in the hospital tent for less. I don’t know where he gets it from.”

 

“Yeah, it’s a real mystery,” Ron said, laughing with her. “Notice he doesn’t grab at Hermione like that. He knows I’d flatten him.”

 

“Maybe once, but right now you couldn’t flatten a house elf,” Fred eyed Ron, arching an eyebrow at him that really wasn’t funny to Ron. He hated being so thin when for years he’d been extremely fit. He knew he could remedy the situation easily enough once he was feeling better, but he still didn’t like Fred pointing it out.   Fred continued, “And I’ll have you know that Hermione was screaming my name just last week. I think I still have the scratch marks.”

 

Ron seethed and Fred yelped loudly, grabbing at his arse in pain. 

 

Charlie’s laugh filled the tent once more. “Alright there, Fred?”

 

“What the fuck did you do to my trousers?” Fred asked George accusingly. 

 

George pulled a face at his twin. “I didn’t do anything to them, I swear.”

 

“Burning much?” Charlie asked, gripping at his side as he still laughed boisterously. “Need me to run you a cold bath to soak your arse in.”

 

“Soak your head while you’re at it,” Ron said, still irritated enough to make Fred yelp in pain for a second time. 

 

“What’d you do to my trousers, you arsehole?” Fred said, shaking Charlie who was almost completely defenseless because he was laughing so hard.

 

“Easy, ol’ boy,” Charlie gasped out in his hilarity. “You got the wrong General. I suggest you take back any insults issued towards Hermione before we have to send you to the hospital tent with third degree burns.”

 

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Fred said, and then breathed a sigh of relief when Ron’s anger abated a bit. He rubbed at his arse, shaking his head. “How’d you do that, anyway?”

 

“Muscles aren’t everything,” Ron said, and then leaned over to George who was sitting next to him with one of Charlie’s cigars in hand. “Let me get that for you, Mate.”

 

Ron snapped his fingers, and George’s eyes grew wide when the cigar lit itself. He took it out of his mouth and studied it, and then raised his gaze to Ron in shock. “How the hell are you doing that?” he rasped. 

 

“I’m talented,” Ron said, his eyes narrowed at George maliciously. “Don’t fuck with me. I’m sick, but I’m not helpless. I feel like dealing with you and your twin’s shit about as much as I feel like going back to that dungeon.”

 

“Generals have no sense of humor,” Fred said, shaking his head. 

 

“Have a drink,” Charlie said, handing a glass to Fred. “It’ll take the edge off those burns.”

 

“I doubt it,’ Fred said, taking the drink gratefully. “I’m dying here. I won’t be able to sit for week.”

 

“Gabriel’s in the hospital tent,” Ron offered in false sweetness. “Why don’t you go ask her to heal them for you? I’m sure she’s seen worse than your bare arse.”

 

“Don’t count on it,” Charlie said as Fred downed his drink in one gulp the same as George had. When he wheezed, his face turning red before racking coughs shook his frame, Charlie laughed loudly once more. “Who says we don’t have a sense a humor?”

 

George was also laughing and Ron couldn’t help but join in, the laughter feeling strange and foreign to him. 

 

He was a pain in the arse, but Fred could take as good as he got and he laughed along with them. He eyed the glass in appreciation. “My God, this is good shit. You’ve been holding out on us, Charles.”

 

“Lets get Ginny, Harry and Bill and have an official party,” George said, looking to Ron as he took a drink, the burn of the liquor going down obviously making his voice raspy. “It was never the same after you died. We tried getting together, but drinking just seemed lame when you weren’t around.”

 

“I’m touched, George,” Ron said, taking a long drink out of his glass, unable to wince as it burned down his throat because pain was so second nature that he hardly felt it. “And that’s not bullshit. That’s serious. Still, I doubt you gave up drinking just for me. If you did, Lavender might stick me back underground.”

 

“That’s not funny, Ron,” George said gravely. “It fucking killed us when you died.”

 

“I didn’t die, genius,” Ron said, more than a little uncomfortable with George being serious. It went against the laws of nature and knowing he was the cause of it churned Ron’s stomach. “I’ve got a pulse and everything.”

 

“Maybe, but I still feel like I’m looking at a ghost.” 

 

Ron closed his eyes, taking a long puff off the cigar as he fell back against the leather chair. “I’m having a shit night. Is there a reason you’re picking on me?”

 

“Yeah, I love you,” George said, his voice still serious. “And I worry about the people I love, especially when they’re in here getting drunk with Charlie instead of rolling in the sheets with the wife they haven’t seen for two years. Why haven’t you asked to see Roni? Mum’s sick over it, and I know Hermione must be too.”

 

“ Christ,” Ron said, leaning forward on the desk and resting his forehead in his hand. “Try to put yourself in my shoes.” He shook his head, putting the cigar in the ashtray to rub at his temples. “Forget it, there’s no way you can do that. I don’t want my daughter see me like this. I wanted to get better, stronger. . . before she saw me.” Ron was quiet again, because he realized his speech was falling on deaf ears. He could feel Fred and George staring at his back. He couldn’t help but stiffen under their combined gazes and finally said, “Go on, ask me. . .I know you’re dying to.”

 

“What’d they do to you?” George asked softly. 

 

“Things that would give you nightmares just thinking about,” Ron said, lifting his head to glare at George. “I’m not rolling in the sheets with Hermione because I realized that sex started to make me uneasy about the third or fourth time I had to watch one of my female soldiers being raped. I don’t give a shit about my own scars. It was their scars that kill me. I watched my own soldiers die horrible, excruciating deaths and I can’t close my eyes without hearing their screams. I stopped trying to keep them alive because it was cruel to do so. It was when the last one died that I finally stopped trying to stay alive and then, what do you know, Parvati’s brother shows up and pulls me out of that hell hole. So now I get to spend the rest of my days wishing that I’d pushed them more, forced just one of them to fight harder instead of letting them die. I’ve got more blood on my hands than you’ll ever know.”

 

“You didn’t kill them, Ron,” Charlie said softly. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

 

“Bullshit!” Ron roared at his brother. “How would you feel if it was your troops that you’d watched die off one at a time? And do you know what’s worse. . .They protected me. Not one of those Death Eaters ever knew I was Ron Weasley because no one ever let it slip that a General was sleeping on the ground with them. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t blame myself for! You don’t know shit about any of it.”

 

“Sorry,” Charlie said, looking abashed.

 

“You and me both,” Ron said, and then downed the rest of his drink, not even flinching at the burn. In fact, it was the best feeling he’d had all day and he had to wonder at the long-term issues he was going to have, because it seemed pain was easier for him to endure than love.  

 

“Hey, Ron,” Fred said, taking his glass from him. “Did I tell you I got a degree in healing while you were gone.”

 

Ron snorted. “I’d believe that right after Hermione sat down in the office and had a cigar with us.”

 

“No, it’s true. My specialty is in psychology and I know just what will fix those demons,” he said, smiling as he handed Ron his glass, now filled to the brim. “This is just what you need, ol’ chap, and you’ve got three brothers to drink it with you. Four if one of us gets pissed enough to sneak into the other tent and risks mum’s wrath to wake Bill up.”

 

“I’m pissed enough now,” George said, jumping to his feet. “Fred, why don’t you go and grab Harry and Ginny.”

 

Ron pulled a face. “They seemed very preoccupied before I left. I’d save myself the trauma.”

 

“Good advice,” George said, also pulling a face of horror. “I guess it’s down to me. I’ll be back, ladies.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Hermione woke to the sound of off-key singing and it took her a bit to get her bearings as she listened to the voice. At first she thought she was dreaming, but reality came back to her as she rolled over and looked at Ron. 

 

He was laying on his stomach, one leg kicking to the sound of the limerick he was singing. 

 

_There once was a man from Calass_

_Whose balls were made out of brass_

_When he clanked them together_

_They played stormy weather_

_And lightening shot out of his arse._

 

Ron laughed to himself and even with the obnoxious smell of cigar smoke choking her, Hermione couldn’t help the joy that burst inside of her at the sound of it. He was alive. It didn’t matter that he was a little rough around the edges. He was alive and after two years of mourning him, she’d take him anyway she could get him. 

 

_There once was a man from Nantucket_

_Whose dick was so long he could—_

 

“Please don’t finish that,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes in the darkness. “The last one was moving enough.”

 

“Sorry, love,” Ron slurred, rolling onto his back and looking over at Hermione. “Did I wake you?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione said, stretching her arms and legs that were still heavy from sleep. “I hope you realize that your brother is a dead man. I told him not to let you drink.”

 

“Oh, don’t be hard on the Lady Dragon,” Ron said, giving her a heart stopping grin and Hermione realized that it was the first time she’d really seen him smile since they’d discovered him alive. “He missed this ol’ General.”

 

“He’s not the only one,” she said, her voice catching with emotion. 

 

“Yeah,” Ron sighed as he turned to look up at the ceiling. “Cor, I don’t feel so good.”

 

“Lovely,” Hermione said, rolling out of bed. “You reek, Ron. Maybe a bath would make you feel better.”

 

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, and then started humming to himself for a second. “Maybe.”

 

Realizing he wasn’t going to make the effort on his own, Hermione leaned down to help him up. He was much thinner than he was before they lost him, but Ron was six-five and he still weighed more than Hermione could bear on her own. 

 

She grunted when he leaned heavily on her. “Help me out here, Ronald.”

 

“I like when you call me Ronald,” he breathed against her hair, leaving the smell of expensive whiskey in the air. 

 

“God, how much did you drink.”

 

“Lots,” Ron said, laughing again. “But, I’m still walking. The same can’t be said for others.”

 

“I think walking is being overly optimistic,” Hermione groaned, trying to open the door to the bathroom while bearing the brunt of Ron’s weight. “I hope Charlie has a dreadful hangover tomorrow.”

 

“He probably will,” Ron agreed. “But, he faired better than the other girls we have for brothers. Bill was retching in the bushes when I left.”

 

“Oh, that’s a charming image,” Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief when Ron sat down on the toilet. He rested his forehead in his hands, and she couldn’t help but feel concern. Even if his misery was self-inflicted, she hated to see him suffering. “Are you going to be sick?”

 

“Already am,” he mumbled, and then looked up at her with haunted blue eyes. “Sorry. I’m not making a very good husband, huh?”

 

Hermione turned away to flip one of the many faucets on the edge of the large, ornate tub that was a feature of Ron’s tent, making the water hot enough to cause steam to fill the small room. “It’s okay. Lets get you out of these clothes. You’ll feel better when that cigar smoke isn’t sticking to you. I didn’t even drink and it’s churning my stomach.”

 

Ron nodded, stumbling when he stood up, causing him to fall heavily against Hermione. “Bugger!”

 

“I concur,” Hermione said, wincing as she attempted to hold him up. “You’ve got to stand on your own feet, Ron. You’re too heavy.”

 

“I’m too thin,” he grumbled, wavering for a second when he found his footing. “I’m ugly.”

 

“Love, you aren’t ugly,” Hermione sighed, reaching down to undo his trousers. “I think you look fine.”

 

“I’m weak,” he complained, being more hindrance than help as he tried to push down his trousers and pants. “And I’ve got more scars than Mad Eye Moody. Remember him? I miss that ol’ chap.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes as she leaned down to help Ron step out of his trousers. “We’ve all got scars. At least yours are on the outside.”

 

“They aren’t just on the outside, Hermione.”

 

She sighed and looked up at him, trying not to blush at seeing him naked again after so long. “I know, but you’re home and we’ll help you fix them. We’re all here for you.” 

 

Ron nodded and stepped out of his trousers without falling over, which Hermione was exceedingly grateful for. Thank God he still maintained his ability to hold his liquor, because if he’d been retching, Hermione might have lost her composure. Ironically, she found herself longing for the memorial they had set up in Ron’s honor. Over the past two years, she’d gone there whenever real life had got too difficult. She used to sit there and just chat with Ron, her best friend and lover since she’d been a child. Now he was here in front of her and she was wishing for a piece of stone to spill her heart out to, because this man seemed like such a stranger. 

 

Ron gave a huge sigh of relief as he sank into the depths of the bath that was the size of small pool rather than a tub. He took a deep breath and sank under the water, leaving nothing but bubbles for Hermione to stare at. She started to get concerned when he didn’t surface after a few seconds. 

 

“Ron!” she gasped, reaching down into the water until she felt his hair. She gave a tug, and his head resurfaced with surprising speed, soaking the front of her nightdress with the water that splashed out of the tub. “Oh hell!”

 

“Language, love,” Ron said, grinning at her as he wiped the bubbles off his face. “I really missed baths.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as she looked down at herself. It wasn’t the first time her nightdress was drenched and sticking to her uncomfortably because of a wayward bather. “You’re worse than Roni.”

 

“She is my daughter.”

 

Hermione felt her breath catch, her laughter dying off suddenly. It was the first time Ron had mentioned their daughter. She’d been terrified to realize that he was having a hard time coming to terms with having a child in the world. It brought up the old insecurities she’d forgotten in the wake of Ron’s death. For a full week she’d known she was pregnant and agonized over how to tell Ron, but then he’d died and the decision had been made for her. Now, over two years later, she was back to where she started. 

 

“She is,” Hermione agreed softly. “Everything from her temper to her red hair is all yours.”

 

“She’s a beautiful baby, Hermione.”

 

Hermione smiled at him, disgusted with herself when she had to wipe her cheeks clean of moisture that wasn’t bath water. “She is. . .I’m sorry I never told you that I was pregnant.”

 

Ron shrugged. “S’ okay.”

 

He sank under the water again, and when he resurfaced he spit a mouthful of water at Hermione, making her gasp in surprise. She had jumped up in defense and looked down at him incredulously. “Are you mad?”

 

“No, just pissed out of my mind,” Ron said, laughing at her as she wiped at her face again. “You were getting too serious.”

 

God, Hermione was choked again, because this was her Ron. This was the man she had missed so desperately. This was the friend she had sought out at that cold, stone memorial in Hogsmeade. This was the person who could get her laughing and keep her level headed no matter how dire the circumstances. She had started to worry that he was gone forever, that his time in prison camp had killed the humor that had once come so easily to him, and seeing it again was a huge relief. She had told herself that she’d take him anyway she could get him, but she was more selfish that that. She wanted her old friend back.

 

“Don’t go crying,” Ron said, reaching out of the tub. He swiped at the tears running down her face, making a bigger mess when he left pink bubbles behind “’Cause if you start I will and we’ll both be a mess.”

 

Hermione gave a broken laugh, brushing the bubbles off her face and eyeing them as they glittered under the dim candlelight. “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too,” he said, and then suspiciously scrubbed at his face with both hands, his fingers ending up in his hair, leaving it glittering with bubbles and standing on end in dark red spikes. “Wanna get in?”

 

“I think that’d be a bad idea,” Hermione said, giving a little laugh. 

 

Hermione shrieked again when Ron leaned halfway out of the tub, water sluicing over his firm body, looking like beads of diamonds against his pale skin. He wrapped one strong arm around her waist with startling speed and pulled her into the tub with a resounding splash. 

 

Hermione jumped to her feet, gasping and choking over the water. Her short hair was clinging to her face and she brushed it out of her eyes to look at Ron incredulously. “Have you lost your mind?”

 

“You were being serious again.”

 

“Oh my God,” Hermione said, laughing incredulously as she walked over to him, wading in the water that was shoulder deep. She took a handful of bubbles and put them on his nose. “You’ve gone around the bend.”

 

He gave her one of his boyish grins as he swiped at the bubbles on his face, but was stopped from saying anything when a knock sounded on the door. 

 

“Hermione, are you okay,” Ginny asked. “We heard you scream.”

 

Hermione laughed when Ron placed a finger to his lips and then sank under the water again. “I’m fine. We were just having a bath.”

 

“We?” Ginny asked, and Hermione could hear the smile in her voice. 

 

“Yes, we,” Ron said when he resurfaced again. “Did Hermione and I knock on your door when you and Harry were shaking the whole tent?”

 

“Goodnight,” Ginny said, laughing behind the closed door. “Have a good bath.”

 

“We will!” Ron shot back and then sank under the water once more. 

 

Hermione felt him swim past her and his whole face was covered in bubbles when he resurfaced on the other side of the large of tub. “I don’t remember you enjoying baths quite this much.”

 

“There are lots of things I didn’t appreciate like I should. Baths are just one of them,” Ron said as he gracefully swam back to her. Hermione had forgotten what a strong swimmer he was. It was impressive considering she refused to leave the shallow end of the tub. She had learned a lot of things in her life, but swimming wasn’t one of them. He stopped in front of her, studying her face intently and Hermione realized she had been smiling like a fool as she had watched him swim. Ron reached out, running a thumb over her lips.  “Your smile is another one. It makes you radiant, did you know that?”

 

Hermione blushed, lowering her eyes. “Hush! I know I look horrid. Lavender is always saying that I’ve let myself go since you died.”

 

“Lavender is as big an idiot as her husband. You’re still beautiful,” Ron said softly. “But, I didn’t die, Hermione. I’m getting sort of tired of reminding everyone about that.”

 

“Sorry,” she said, shrugging a little. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

 

“I know the feeling,” Ron said, leaning down to give her a smile. “There are lots of ideas I’m having a hard time wrapping my brain around.”

 

Hermione groaned. “God, I know. Roni must have been a horrible shock to you.”

 

“It was a shock, to be sure. . .But not a horrible one,” Ron said, his face looking sad for a second before he shook it off. “You wanna swim with me.”

 

“You know I don’t swim.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Ron said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her towards deeper water. “I’ve never let you drown, have I?”

 

“You did once,” Hermione couldn’t help but say. Ron had been such a powerful man, so strong and full of life that it had been easy to depend on him. She had never recovered from the shock of hearing that he had died. “I’ve been drowning for two years.”

 

“Me too, love,” Ron said, and then tugged on her nightdress. “But, I’m starting to remember again and one thing I can tell you for sure. . . Swimming in a nightdress makes it a lot harder.”

 

Hermione laughed, and it felt good because she hadn’t laughed much over the past few years. More than that, she thought she’d never laugh with Ron again. There was an intimacy thick in the air now, nothing sexual, rather something deeper than that. It was the intimacy that came from being with someone she had once shared everything with and Hermione knew now how special and unique that laugher was. “Do you own many nightdresses?”

 

“Are you kidding? I have a whole closet full,” Ron said, grinning at her. “I think pink’s my best color.”

 

Hermione laughed harder and wrapped her arms around his neck when she found that she couldn’t keep her head above water without him. “You’re insane.”

 

“Certifiably,” he said, and then tugged at her nightgown once more. “Lets get this off and I’ll teach you how to swim.”

 

“You’re pissed,” Hermione argued. “You’ll probably drown us both.”

 

“True. . . But, At least we’ll be together this time.”

 

Ron had a point and Hermione found herself pulling her wet nightdress off and tossing it over the rim of the tub. 


	11. Chapter 11

Ron came awake to the sound of his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears. Following the sound was the rapid realization that his head felt like it’d just been cleaved in two. He groaned, disorientated by the feel a soft mattress beneath him. He grabbed his head, thinking that he was simply recovering from another beating at the hands of his captures. That simple thought made fury burst white-hot inside of him. The crackle and distinct smell of something burning reached his senses.

He always started fires when he first woke and wasn’t totally in control of his senses. It was without any forethought whatsoever that he focused on water, knowing that he could easily suffocate himself in the dungeon if the fire got out of control. Whatever was burning sizzled and then quieted altogether under the large splash of water. Knowing that any imminent threat of choking to death was dispelled, Ron rolled over and was surprised to feel a silky slide of skin that could only belong to a woman beneath his rough hand.

Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes, hissing at the sting of bright sunlight. When he was able to properly focus, which took time considering the pain in his head, he saw that it wasn’t just any woman that was lying curled next to him.

It was Hermione. His woman. His Hermione.

He groaned, closing his eyes again as his memory came back in devastatingly full clarity. Damn, but he hoped his brothers were suffering as badly as him, because upon further analysis, a beating would be infinitely preferable to the hangover that was washing over him in sickening waves.

“Is something burning?” Hermione asked sleepily.

“Yeah,” Ron said, and then moaned as the sound of his own voice caused intense pain to burst behind his closed eyes. “I have issues with spontaneous magic.”

“Oh,” she said, snuggling against his chest for a second. She sighed contentedly, but then realization must have hit her, because she sat up in bed and screeched loud enough to make Ron groan. “You set something on fire!”

“I put it out,” Ron rasped, gripping at his head. “Please don’t yell.”

Hermione had got out of bed and gasped. “But, there’s water everywhere!”

Wanting her to cease with the yelling, Ron used what little mental focus he had to clean up the water with a Drying Charm. It didn’t have the desired effect, because she screeched again.

“It disappeared!”

“I know,” Ron said as he pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead. “It’s just a Drying charm. I am a wizard, you know?”

“Oh.” Hermione’s voice was coming from somewhere close to the ground on Ron’s side of the bed and even without sight he knew she was leaning down and inspecting whatever he had torched. His theory was confirmed when she said, “You’ve ruined this rug, Ron.”

“Sorry.”

Hermione wasn’t appeased. “You should have told me that you have problems with spontaneous magic. Lighting fires in your sleep is serious!”

“I’m going to start another one if you keep yelling,” he moaned. “I’m dying here.”

“Give me my wand,” she said, still sounding shaken. “I’ll see if I can fix the rug up.”

“How am I supposed to find your wand?” Ron asked incredulously. “I can’t even open my eyes.”

“Don’t you have it?”

“Why would I have your wand?”

“What’d you mean?” Hermione popped up from where she’d been crouched, her voice ringing in his ears as she kneeled on the floor, her arms resting on the bed near his head. “Didn’t you use it to cast the Drying charm?”

“I couldn’t use your wand to scratch my back,” Ron said, laughing a little and then groaning again when the pain in his head magnified. “That blasted thing never worked for me.”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” she said, her voice softer. “How’d you cast the Drying charm then?”

“Same way I started the fire.” Hermione was quiet and Ron finally opened his eyes. She was staring at him, her face a mask of shock. “What?”

“Have you learned how to harness spontaneous magic?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” he said, surprised that Hermione was completely speechless as she gaped at him. “Don’t act so impressed. I can’t do anything complicated. Elemental things like fire and water and Summoning charms are about as far as it goes.”

“That’s a huge deal, Ron,” Hermione rasped. “The Department of Mysteries has been working on that for years. How’d you manage it?”

“Easy. I was in a state of perpetual fury for two years,” Ron said, hating that Hermione still seemed impressed and didn’t seem to understand what he was trying to say. “I’m not unique, Hermione. Lots of the prisoners had issues with spontaneous magic. You get so used to being angry and afraid that the magic comes to you easily. I wasn’t even the best at it. One of the women mastered Transfiguration before she died, which was great because she could make food out of straw or dirt. Unfortunately, I never got the hang of that. My other soldiers would still be alive if I had. She died early on us.”

Hermione nodded solemnly. “Would you at least be willing to talk about your experiences with the Department? It’d be very helpful.”

Ron couldn’t help but smirk at her. “Are you getting political on me?”

“I’m thinking of the greater good, General,” Hermione said, smiling back at him. “Think of how your troops could benefit. I saw the old Ron last night and I know he’s not retiring anytime soon.”

Ron winced. He’d already made the decision that he wanted his job back, but he hadn’t cleared it with Hermione. “Would you be alright with it? Me staying in the Order, that is?”

“Honestly,” Hermione sighed. “I’m not thrilled about it, even if I knew it was inevitable. Being out in the field took you away from me. I know the war is officially over, but unofficially there is still a lot of work to be done. There’s too many Death Eaters unaccounted for. They could be regrouping. I’d never say this publicly, but I don’t think we’re done fighting and knowing how you are, you’ll be right in the thick of it.”

“I let my troops down once,” Ron said, ignoring his headache in desperation for Hermione’s understanding. “I can’t do it again. I need to be out here, Hermione. They need me.”

“I need you,” she shot back passionately. “Our daughter needs you.”

“So what? You want me to stay at home and knit jumpers while you become Minister of Magic,” he said incredulously. “How can our daughter respect me? How can I respect myself? I’m a good General, Hermione.”

She sighed again. “I know you are and I’m being horribly selfish. I just missed you terribly. You don’t know how badly losing you affected me. I would have never recovered if you hadn’t come home like you did. I just want to protect you.”

Ron felt a smile tug at his lips as he reached out and stroked her cheek. “You don’t need to protect me, love. I’m a big lad now.”

Hermione laughed, letting her forehead fall against the mattress. “I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get over it. I’ll hate you being gone so much, but we’ll work something out.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” she said, lifting her head and giving him a watery smile. “I’m behind you, General.”

“Thanks,” he said, still smiling. “You really gonna run for Minister of Magic? Harry said you’ve been considering it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, giving him a shy smile. “It’s crossed my mind. What’d you think?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Ron said enthusiastically. “I always thought that job had your name all over it. Besides, I’d be married to one of the most powerful women in the Wizarding world. I’ll be on the A list for sure.”

“I’ve got news for you, General,” Hermione said slyly. “You already are married to one of the most powerful women in the Wizarding world.”

Ron laughed, which killed his head. “God, that damn whiskey of Charlie’s. I forgot the headache it delivered the next day.”

“Serves you right.”

“I know,” he said, chuckling to himself and then closing his eyes because the next confession pained him. “Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to get you naked and then pass out on you.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered as she reached over to brush the fringe off his forehead. “At least we were out of the tub before you did. We would have drowned for sure otherwise.”

“I would never let you drown, Hermione,” he said, opening his eyes again to stare at her hungrily. He was still dealing with a lot, but just being with Hermione was something he appreciated more than fresh air or baths. It was the thing he missed above all others. “And the next time I get you naked I won’t be pissed out of my mind. I promise.”

“I intend to make you keep that promise,” Hermione said bravely, but the pink in her cheeks told Ron she was still nervous, perhaps as nervous as him at the thought of them being intimate again after so long. “I really did miss you.”

“Not nearly as much as I missed you,” he said sincerely, reaching out to touch her cheek again. “I’m not starting out on the best foot as a husband, but I am trying, Hermione.”

“I think you’re doing fine,” she said, resting her cheek in his hand. “There’s no rush. I’m just happy to have you home.”

“I love you,” he said, finding that the words weren’t nearly as hard to say as he thought they would be. “And I want to see my daughter.”

Hermione’s brilliant smile was worth shoving down any insecurities he might have had surrounding his new role as father.

“Really, Ron?”

“Really, Hermione,” he said, rubbing a thumb against her soft skin. “It’s time she and I get acquainted, I think.”

“I love you too,” Hermione said, leaning up on the bed and wrapping her arms around his neck. “She’s so beautiful and so smart! You’ll be amazed!”

“No, I won’t,” he said, hugging her to him as he pulled her off her feet and rolled onto his back in bed, leaving Hermione draped over him. “After all, her mother is the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.”

“Hush.” Hermione swatted at his chest. When she lifted her head to smile at him, he could tell that despite her protests, she was pleased. “You were always full of it.”

“Maybe about some things, but never that. You know you’re brilliant,” he said, noticing that she was looking at him with smoldering brown eyes. The fire in them was surprisingly familiar and that look caused lust to swirl up in him as if he’d never left, but he really wasn’t feeling quite up to anything spectacular. He wanted their first time together after so long to be special. His headache made that impossible at the moment. He was nowhere near top form. “As fun as this is, I need to take advantage of having medical care at my fingertips. I need a potion for this headache. Quickly.”

“You want me to go get it?”

“Nah, I’ll go,” Ron said, as he slid out from under Hermione. “I’d like to see the camp now that I’m back on my feet again. See if the Lady Dragon is in top form or if he’s slouching.”

“You know you’re going to have your work cut out for you if you do stay in the service,” Hermione said warningly. “We’re losing a lot of our top ranking officers now that Voldemort is gone. They all want to go home. The war lasted too bloody long.”

“I reckoned,” Ron said, trying not to move his head too much as he pulled on fresh pair of trousers. “We’re going to have to totally regroup.”

Hermione shook her head and then rolled over in bed, giving him a nice view of her back that was outlined under the clean nightdress she must have put on after he had passed out cold the second they got into bed. He was certainly second guessing the decision to search out a cure for his headache, especially when the memory of her naked and pressed against him in the bath the previous night assailed him. They hadn’t done anything more than swim, but he had wanted to do more. If only he hadn’t been quite so drunk.

“Go be a General,” Hermione said sleepily, making his decision for him as she stifled a yawn. “I’m going to take advantage of sleeping in. It’s all too rare in my life. If it’s not work that has me up at the crack of dawn, it’s Roni. This is really nice.”

Realizing for the first time just how difficult it must have been for Hermione to hold such a position of power and be a mother at the same time, Ron felt himself choke up. He’d been selfish in his shock. He hadn’t really stopped to think about what Hermione had been through.

“Sleep,” he said, hating that his voice cracked with emotion. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

“Oh, you’re an absolute love,” Hermione sighed contently, snuggling under the blankets.

Actually, he was feeling sort of like a shit, but he didn’t bother to enlighten Hermione to that opinion. He just grabbed a clean shirt that Hermione had hung in the closet for him and slipped out the door.

Seeing that Harry and Ginny weren’t around to warn about Hermione’s need for sleep, Ron simply cast a Locking charm on their door so they wouldn’t bother her. He found his shoes in the living room and just used his old socks from the night before, too desperate for a cure to his headache to bother with going back for a new pair.

He hadn’t been out in Charlie’s camp during the light of day and he enjoyed the sights and sounds of it. It was eerily similar to his old camp, but then he and Charlie had always had similar style. Their strengths were different, Charlie was more a hit them head on leader when it came to warfare, where as Ron tended to sneak in behind and catch their enemies by surprise. Both ways were effective and made them both feared by their enemies, just different. Still, when it came to the actual lay out of their camps, one could jump from one to the other and never know that they were in a different camp.

So it was with ease that Ron found the hospital tent, situated firmly in the center of camp where it’d be most protected. He was still waylaid by well wishing soldiers and he was too taken with their enthusiasm to brush them off despite the headache. Many of the soldiers had once served under him and it was nice to see so many familiar faces.

“Hey stranger,” Ginny said, giving Ron a bright smile when he entered the hospital tent. “Lemme guess. You need a hangover remedy.”

“In the worst way,” he said, eyeing his sister who was looking sprite and fresh in her white healers robes. “How’d you know?”

“Bill, Fred and George beat you to it,” she said, laughing. “Shame on you lot. Having a party without me.”

“We would have invited you, but you sounded rather busy when I left the tent last night,” he said, smiling back at her. “I didn’t think Harry would have appreciated the interruption.”

Ginny’s coloring gave away her embarrassment. A dark blush stained her cheeks as she turned to go back to the patients she’d been caring for. “It’s in the supply closet.”

Ron heard giggling from inside the supply closet and having walked in one too many times on Healers and nurses involved in activities he should have written them up for, Ron knocked first. Gabrielle appeared at the door a second later, her cheeks as flushed as Ginny’s had been when she saw him.

“General,” she said, eyeing him in concern. “Are you still sick?”

“Sort of. . .But this time it’s self inflicted.”

“Ah,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling as she smiled at him. “I ‘ave something for zat.”

“I was hoping you would,” Ron said, looking into the closet when she went to fetch the potion. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Patil was also blushing as he ran a hand through his short black hair. “Morning, sir. You look like you’re feeling better.”

Ron winked knowingly at him. “So do you. You getting situated in this camp okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “General Weasley set me up with a nice tent. You should come and see it. I almost don’t know what to do with all that space to myself.”

Ron laughed and gratefully took the potion from Gabrielle. In desperate need of it, he downed it like a shot, wincing over the taste as he handed the empty bottle back to Gabrielle.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something.” Lieutenant Patil blushed once more, lowering his eyes as he shrugged. There was no time like the present, so Ron broached a subject that had been on his mind. “Are you staying in the service, Lieutenant?”

“I think so,” he said, looking up in surprise. “Why?”

“I hate to keep moving you around, but I want you serving under me once I get myself situated,” Ron said seriously. “I owe a life debt to you.” His eyes met Gabrielle’s. “To both of you. Charlie will hate me for it, but I’d like to have you as well, Gabrielle. If you’re going to stay in the ranks, that is.”

“I waz, yes,” Gabrielle said, looking conflicted. “But, you don’t owe us anyzing.”

“Actually, I do. A life debt is something I take very seriously,” Ron said, meeting both their concerned gazes head on. “If both of you are going to continue to serve, I’m going to have to insist that it’s under me in my personal camp.”

Ron was relieved when the Lieutenant didn’t argue. “It’d be a honor, sir.”

“Good to hear,” Ron said, smiling easy now that his headache was gone. He found himself staring at Gabrielle, who was every bit as breathtaking as her sister, perhaps more so because Gabrielle had a soft nature that Fleur lacked. She had a kind heart and Ron found himself feeling a brotherly like affection for her. “What about you, Gabrielle? Will you do me the honor of letting me attempt to pay back the debt I owe you?”

“I’ll do it because I want to,” she said finally, her voice firm. “Not because of some silly superstition.”

“Fine,” Ron agreed, and then leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead. “Besides, you’re the most brilliant nurse I’ve ever known. Charlie really is going to hate me for taking you away from him.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a radiant smile that was a little disconcerting, because it made her almost too beautiful to look at.

He had never had a hard time being loyal to Hermione, but he was still a man and he had to feel sorry for the Lieutenant. He knew what it was like to be in love with a stunning woman. Men always watched Hermione and it had been a source of never ending frustration for him.

“I’ll let you two get back to whatever you were doing. Helping Gabrielle stock the shelves, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Patil smiled. “Something like that, sir.”

“I’m sure,” Ron said knowingly and laughed. “Don’t get too caught up. Ginny will have your heads. They say Charlie and I are the bad ones, but she’s the Weasley you’ve got to watch out for.”

He left Gabrielle and Lieutenant to their activities and found his sister, who was looking over a chart for one of the patients. “Correct me if I’m being daft, but I thought you worked at St. Mungo’s?”

“I do,” Ginny said, placing the chart on the bed next to her. “But I still like to help out in the fields when I’m out here. Keeps me busy.”

“Where are Charlie’s Healers?”

“Oh, I told them to take the morning off. He’s only got two and they were both still ragged from the final battle. Charlie’s camp was near the front lines and they ended up caring for a lot of the injured,” Ginny said, and then smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Don’t start,” Ron growled at her. “I haven’t changed that much. I still have a firm rule against my sister being my Healer.”

Ginny nodded, biting her lip for a second before she said, “I have some friends at St. Mungo’s, Ron. They’re very good listeners if you’d like to talk to someone impartial.”

Ron arched a bored eyebrow at you. “No, Ginny. Stop being my Healer.”

“I’m not being your Healer. I’m being your sister,” she said as she stepped forward and gave him a hug. “I’ve been treating war prisoners for years. Psychology isn’t my specialty, of course. I simply healed their injuries, but I do know how difficult adjusting can be sometimes.”

“No, you don’t,” Ron said, returning her hug and leaning down to place a kiss on top of her head. “And I thank God for that.”

Ron and Ginny both turned when Charlie stumbled into the tent with his head in his hand. He squinted through the one eye he’d managed to open. “I hate to break up the love-fest, because it’s touching. Really, it is. But, you’ve got to help me, Gin. Unlike you lot, I’ve got to work.”

Ginny laughed, making Charlie groan. “What do you think I’m doing?

“It sounded like you were trying to talk Ron into seeing a shrink that he doesn’t need.”

Ginny reached out and smacked at Charlie’s arm. “How the hell do you know what he needs? I’m the Healer!”

“Ow!” Charlie said, gripping at his head when Ginny started hitting him in earnest. “Okay, you’re right! Ow! He’s totally mental!”

“He’s not mental, you twat!” Ginny rasped, beating at his chest and arms. “What a ruddy stupid thing to say!”

Charlie gave a pained laugh. “You’re the worst Healer I’ve ever seen. You’re supposed help those in need, not injure them!” He ducked when Ginny went after him again. “Ow! I’m sorry, Ginny. You’re a genius. Ow! I’ll kiss your perfect feet. Just help me!”

Ginny hit him one last time. “It’s in the supply closet, prat. Gabrielle will give it to you.”

“I’d knock first, mate,” Ron said warningly as Charlie dashed around the corner, obviously in fear for his safety. Ron couldn’t help but laugh. “Cor, you remind me of mum. I pity poor Harry.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“I was kidding,” Ron said quickly, laughing again when Ginny arched one red eyebrow at him. “I missed you, Gin.”

“I missed you too!” Ginny surprised him by wrapping her arms around is neck and hugging him again. She held him tightly for a long time before she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“The Quaffle is through the hoop!” Charlie said, coming around the corner looking much better as he pretended to toss an imaginary Quaffle. “Score ten for the Lieutenant!” He cupped his hands over his mouth, mimicking the sound of a cheering crowd and then smiled at them. “Ron, did you see that? A Veela! Nice, right? You ever wonder why Bill broke up with Fleur? Not that I’m complaining, sleeping with a Metamorphmagus has it’s perks.” Ginny gave Charlie a disgusted look and he stared back at her, looking confused. “What?”

Ginny just shook her head sadly and walked away.

“What’d I do?”

Ron shrugged. “Got me, mate.”

“She’s the one that’s mental,” he whispered, not seeing Ginny come up behind him until she clobbered him with the clipboard. He ducked, clutching his head protectively. “Get away from me, you cow!”

Ron laughed. “Stop while you’re ahead, Lady Dragon.”

“She’s out of her tree. . .Ow!”


	12. Chapter 12

“You know you’re going to have to address the media soon.”

Ron looked up from the paper, stared at Harry for a long moment and then sighed.  “Yeah, I know.”

“But, not until you’re ready,” Harry added, giving him an encouraging smile.  “We’ll hold them off until then.”

 “God, I really have to put my whole life back together,” Ron said, staring past Harry at a spot on the wall.  “We need to buy a house.  I need to figure out a routine once I go back to work.  There’s just—so much.  The media is really the last thing on my mind.”

 “You’re nervous about Roni, huh?”

Ron looked away and nodded, because words seemed to be too much at the moment.  Since Hermione had left to get their daughter from Angelina, his heart hadn’t stopped beating the hell out of his ribs. 

“Don’t be, mate,” Harry said, as he uncharacteristically reached across the desk and squeezed Ron’s hands.  “She’s great, really.  You’re gonna love her.”

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t love me?”  Ron said, finally voicing his fears out loud.  “I’m a total stranger to her.”

Harry smiled again.  “She’s a baby.  She loves everyone.”  
Ron nodded, hoping Harry was right.  He couldn’t stop wondering what would happen if she hated him, or was scared of him.  “Is she shy?”

Harry snorted.  “Are you kidding?  She’s a Weasley through and through—She’s anything but shy.  I think Hermione wishes she was, because she’s always fretting about how comfortable Roni is with strangers.  Anyone could take off with her.”

“That is a concern,” Ron agreed, and then feel silent again, lost in barrage of thoughts. 

Harry was silent with him for a while, before he cleared his throat and said, “Not to change the subject, but there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Ron looked up, raising his eyebrows in response. 

“Well, um, you know Ginny and I are getting married this summer—“

Ron snorted.  “Mum told me—She’s thrilled, I can tell.  She won’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, well—I was sorta hoping you’d be my best man.  I was going to have Charlie do it, but now that you’re back.  I just—I never—I didn’t want to get married without you by my side, you know?”

Ron nodded, giving Harry the first genuine smile he’d managed since Hermione left.  “I’d be honored, mate—I wouldn’t let you do it without me.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  “Good,” he said, returning Ron’s smile.  “That’s good.  It’ll be great, the party of the century.”

“You hate parties.”  

Harry shrugged.  “Yeah, I know—But, Ginny loves them and a bird only gets married once.”

“If you’re lucky.”

Harry laughed, grabbing a quill off the desk and chucking it at Ron.  “You wanker.”

Ron laughed too, ducking.  Because he felt like it, Ron threw it back at Harry, and then for good measure he crumbled up a piece of parchment, not caring if it was something important and threw that at Harry too.  He gave a shout of triumph when it hit Harry square between the eyes.

“Not as fast as you used to be, eh, Potter?” 

Harry glared at him, “That’s it Weasley, you are going down!”

When Hermione arrived, Ron and Harry were on the carpet of Ron’s temporary office, rolling and wrestling like teenagers.  Truth was, Harry was winning and Ron’s body was aching from the exertion, but he’d bite off his own tongue before he would admit it.  Instead, he was laughing like a mad man while Harry held him in a headlock. 

“Tell me I’m the best looking bloke in this army!”

Ron laughed harder.  “Generals don’t lie.”

Hermione cleared her throat and they both looked up.  “It looks like you’re feeling better,” she observed, smiling at him. 

Ron grinned, forgetting to be nervous about his daughter as Harry let him go.  He brushed out his robes and shrugged.  “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good,” she said, her smile growing broader.  “I’ve got Roni.”

“Oh,” Ron said, feeling the nervousness rise again.  “Where is she?”

“She saw your mother when we were walking into camp—She just loves Grandmum.”

Ron smirked in spite of himself.  “I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

“Come here,” Hermione said as she walked into the room and pulled Ron to her.  She stood on her toes, her fingers light in his hair as she straightened it.  Ron didn’t even think to be embarrassed with her fusing over him in front of Harry, because it had been so long since someone had taken care of him—it was nice. Harry must have sensed this too, because he didn’t say anything.  Hermione’s smile was warm, her emotions showing plainly on her face.  “You look very handsome.”

Ron snorted.  “Yeah, sure.”

“You do,” Hermione said firmly, before her voice softened.  “Roni is so lucky to have you as a father.  I just—I’m so happy for her that she’ll get to know you.  That was always the hardest part, knowing that Roni would never know what a great man her dad was.”

“Hey,” Ron said when Hermione started crying, furiously brushing away tears that rolled down her face.  “I’m home, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes still shining.  “Okay.”

“I think I’m going to go,” Harry said, reminding Ron that he was still there. 

“Oh, Harry, you don’t have to,” Hermione said, wiping the last of her tears away. 

“Yeah, I do,” he said, and then pulled Hermione into a hug.  “I’ll see you later.”

“We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Hermione said, returning his hug with enthusiasm. 

“You didn’t,” he assured her as he pulled away and caught one more rogue tear with his thumb, wiping it away.  “I’m happy for you, Hermione—For all of you.”

Hermione smiled.  “I’m happy for us too.”

Harry nodded and then clasped Ron on the shoulder in a brotherly gesture. “See you tonight, mate.  Say hi to Roni for me.”

“Will do,” Ron promised him. 

After Harry left, Ron was back to being nervous and he found himself straightening his robes needlessly to combat it.  “Is mum bringing her?”

“Yes, I asked her to wait for a bit,” Hermione said, clasping his hands with hers and squeezing them reassuringly.  “I thought you might need a minute to prepare.”

“I’m terrified,” he admitted. 

“Me, too,” Hermione sighed.  “I want you to love her as much as I do—I want you to see how amazing she is, but I know this is still a huge shock for you.”

“A good shock,” he reminded her. 

Hermione gave him a look.  “But still a shock.”

“We’re here!”  Molly called.

“Oh, God,” Ron groaned when he heard his mother’s voice. 

“It’ll be fine,” Hermione promised him, squeezing his hand once more.  “It’ll all be fine.”

Ron nodded quickly and then took a deep breath. 

“I’ll get her,” Hermione whispered.  “I’ll tell your mum that we want to be alone.”

“Good plan,” he said, grateful that Hermione could still read him so well. 

She ran out of the office and Ron’s breathing became erratic, so much so he feared he might actually pass out.  Knowing that would make a very poor first impression, he sat down in the leather chair at his desk and rested his head in his hands, focusing on breathing in and out. 

“Ron.”

He looked up so fast his head swam, and for a moment, everything was blurred, but then he saw Hermione standing there, holding Roni against her chest and Ron felt like his heart had stopped beating. 

Her hair was red, Weasley red.  It was longer than it had been in the picture from the paper.  Someone had braided it and tied little flowers at the bottoms of her braids that hung past her shoulders.  Even braided, he could see the curls that sprung free and framed her face, wild and frizzy, just like Hermione’s hair looked when she braided it.  Roni had freckles over her small, upturned nose and a smile so bright that she reminded Ron strongly of Ginny when she had been tiny. 

She was tiny, so petite, and innocent.  Until that moment, Ron thought Hermione would always be the most beautiful female he would ever know—But right then, he realized Hermione now had a rival, because to him his daughter was amazing and perfect.  The rush of love he felt for her was overpowering and unexpected.  He had no idea he could fall in love with her that quickly. 

“This is your daddy, lovey,” Hermione said in a soft, encouraging voice.  “Can you say hi?”

Roni waved, her smile growing brighter and on instinct, Ron waved back. 

“Hug?”  Roni asked, turning to her mum with inquisitive eyes. 

“Sure,” Hermione said, setting Roni down.  “You can hug him.”

Roni ran to him then and Ron opened his arms and hugged her.  He wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome from her, considering she had never met him, but he wasn’t complaining.  He wasn’t embarrassed that he was crying as he leaned down to breathe her in, she smelled of the flowers in her hair, of baby powder and soap.  Her little arms felt so good around his neck and he had to be careful not to squeeze too hard because she was so small and fragile.  Why he had waited so long to see her, he didn’t know—He wanted to have her near him forever now that he knew what an amazing little person he and Hermione had made.  Most of all, he had an overwhelming need to make sure she was always safe and happy—It was such a strong emotion, it scared him.  He’d never survive if something happened to this little girl in his arms. 

“Uncle Weasley,” she said, pulling away and looking at his hair. 

“No, remember, Roni, this is daddy,” Hermione reminded her, and Ron could hear the tears in her voice even without seeing them.  For the moment, he had eyes only for his daughter. 

“Your hair is, um, very pretty,” Ron said, his voice choked. 

“Aunty Angel twisted it,” she said proudly, pulling away to show him one braid. “Flowers.”

“They are beautiful flowers—Just like you,” Ron said and then wiped at his face. 

Roni frowned.  “Sad?” 

Ron shook his head and smiled.  “Nope. Just real glad to see you.”

She gave him another brilliant smile, making her brown eyes glow—Ron realized they were Hermione’s eyes.  He could see so much of her in Roni it was amazing because he saw himself too. 

“Oh, wow,” he said, his voice hoarse as he hugged her once more.  Ron heard Hermione sniffle and he looked up at her, seeing that she was crying too.  “I think everything is going to be just fine,” he told and then gave her a broad smile. “Brilliant, even.”

Hermione nodded.  “I think so, too.”

Ron went back to studying Roni, trying to learn her features, memorize every freckle, every inch of her brilliant, smiling face.  “She’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

Hermione sniffed louder and then laughed, “Funny, but I feel the same.”

Ron laughed, “I think I had the easy part.”

“I won’t argue that.”

Ron laughed harder and despite not knowing what they were laughing about, Roni laughed too, her childish, musical laughter joining in with theirs.  Ron liked the way she giggled, the way it sounded a bit forced, as if she did it because it felt well placed. 

“I think I wanna wait a bit before I get back to work,” Ron said as he settled Roni on his lap and looked to Hermione once more.  “I think I deserve that.”

“I think we all do,” she agreed. 

Ron nodded, and then turned his full attention back to his daughter.  It would be hours, far after nightfall before he, Hermione, and Roni thought to even care about the rest of the world.  It was only Hermione’s insistence that they couldn’t be selfish, that his family still needed to be reminded that he was back, that pulled Ron out of his tent to have dinner with his family in Charlie’s tent. 

~*~

Harry did not make it to dinner like he planned.  The Floo Network had temporarily come back up and Harry was disappointed at the timing. He had some administrative things to handle with Phoenix Headquarters.  He had been virtually unreachable since the defeat of Voldemort--for weeks he had nothing but owls and carriers for use in his communications with London—and he just couldn’t miss the opportunity, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

Despite Harry’s absence, Ron couldn’t help but enjoy the meal.  Charlie had good cooks in his camp far better cooks than Ron ever remembered having with him. But then, it had been so long since he had eaten anything that wasn’t totally repulsive, let alone well prepared to the point of being gourmet fare, complete with beautiful presentation and fancy garnish.  Being a General really did have its perks.  He could easily get fat now that he had food at his disposal whenever he wanted it and Ron was certain that it was one of the many things he would never take for granted again.

Roni didn’t seem to mind being the only child at the table.  She was accustomed to adults.  More so, she was used to being fawned over—expected it, even.  Being the only child in attendance that night left her the center of attention and she basked in it. 

Ron saw that it had affected her, being in the limelight, being the only girl in a family that was chock full of little boys, but he found her princess attitude cute—he was still so completely taken with her that he found everything she said endearing.  Roni got upset when Hermione wouldn’t let her have a second serving of desert.  Then, Hermione got upset when Ron’s mum went ahead and gave her the extra treacle tart, dousing it with so much clotted cream, it was hard to find the tart beneath it. 

“Molly,” Hermione snapped, her face flushed in annoyance.  “I told Roni no.”

“Oh, posh, it’s a special occasion,” his mum said, waving off Hermione.  “My Ron always wanted seconds and it never hurt him.  Ron sweetie, you want a second helping, don’t you—It’s your favorite.”

The sweetness didn’t appeal to him the same as it had before his capture. It was overwhelming to his senses and he shook his head.  “I’ll let Miss Veronica take over for me.”  He turned to Hermione.  “She’s a good eater.”

“Sure,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.  “When it’s sweets. It’s getting her to eat her vegetables that’s the trick.”

“I like sweets,” Roni said unapologetically, smiling up from her seat between Ron and Hermione, giving her father a broad grin. “Chocolate and treacle ‘specially.”

Hermione reached over, taking a large bite of Roni’s tart, “Too many sweets are bad for you.  Help her out, Ron.  She’s going to end up with a stomachache.”

“It’s mine!”  Roni announced when Ron took a bite of her dessert.  “I don’t wanna share.”

“Ah, lovey, your dad hasn’t had treacle in a long time,” Hermione said in a soothing voice.  “Years, even.”

Roni’s eyes widened, before she turned to Ron.  “Years?”

Ron nodded sadly.  “It’s true—No chocolate either.”

She pushed her plate towards Ron.  “You have some—I get sweets lots.”

Hermione snorted.  “That’s the truth,” she said, eyeing Molly. 

“Thanks,” Ron said, taking another small bite off Roni’s plate.  “That’s all I really want.”

“You all right, Ron?”  George asked, eyeing him strangely. 

“Yeah, sure, why?”  Ron asked as he took a drink to wash away the sugar sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

“Your appetite seems to have changed,” his mother observed, also looking concerned. 

“Oh, well, yeah,” Ron said, pulling a face.  “I think I’ve lost my taste for sugar.”

Charlie choked on his own drink and laughed, “Ginny, I think he does need that shrink.  Those bastards altered his personality—I didn’t think anyone could beat the love of sugar out of Ron.”

Molly swatted him and Hermione glared—They all did, except Fred, who was trying in vain to choke back his own laugh. 

“That’s not funny, Charlie!”  Molly said, whacking him again for good measure. 

“I agree.  What happened to Ron is not kidding material—ever,” Hermione said, her glare icy.

Ron sighed.  “It’s okay, Hermione.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, her voice low because Roni was noticing the dissention from the adults at the table.  “I won’t let anyone hurt you—not anymore, not ever again.”

Ron smirked then.  “I appreciate it, but Charlie can’t hurt me—He’s my brother.  I’d be worried about him if he wasn’t teasing me.”

“Most of us know it’s not teasing material, Ron,” Ginny said from across the table, then shot another glare, one far more icy than Hermione’s, at Charlie. 

Charlie smirked at his sister, unperturbed.  “It’s all teasing material in this family.  If I were Ron, I’d much prefer being teased to having everyone treating me like a nutter who’s about to crack.”

Ron chuckled, feeling a wave of affection for Charlie wash over him.  “Thanks, mate.”

“I don’t think you’re a nutter,” Hermione said, a frown marring her forehead.  “You know I don’t think that, don’t you?”

“I think he’s stronger than you give him credit for,” Charlie said. 

Hermione glared at him once more.  “This is between us.”

“Charles Weasley, keep your mouth shut for once,” Molly snapped at her son, and though he looked displeased, Charlie obeyed. 

Ron snorted before he turned back to Hermione.  “Charlie’s right, I don’t want people treating me like I’m going to break,” he said, and then glanced around at the table awkwardly.  “I don’t want them to think that they can’t mention it.  It happened, we all know it.  They can joke.  It makes it easier than dwelling on it and treating me like I’m pathetic.”

“We don’t think you’re pathetic, Ronnie—We’d never think that,” Molly said, her voice cracking with emotion. 

“I’m Roni!” 

Ron choked back a laugh and looked down at his daughter, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation at the table.  “I was Ronnie first,” he told her smugly, happy for the change of subject.

“No, me!” she said, her smile wide despite the argument.  “I’m Roni!”

“You’re the better Roni,” Ron conceded, tapping his finger against her nose.  “I’d have never shared my treacle when I was your age.”

“You’d have shared it, Ronnie,” his mother said, her eyes welling up as she sniffed.  “You were such a sweet baby—And you’re a wonderful man.  I am so proud of you.”

Ron rolled his eyes.  “Here we go.”

“My baby,” Molly wailed a second before she attacked him, pulling him to her.  She smoothed his hair and kissed his cheeks, all the while choking the breath out of him.  “I can’t believe you’re back.”

“My hugs!”  Roni announced and Molly reluctantly let go of Ron to lavish attention on her only granddaughter, leaning down she kissed the top of her head and hugged her.  “My grandmum.”  Roni smiled triumphantly at Ron, mimicking his smug tone. 

“Such a darling, sharing her treacle with her dad,” Molly said, still crying and kissing Roni.  “You’re glad to have him back, aren’t you?  You’ll take good care of him for grandmum--I know it.”

“I’m a big girl,” Roni said proudly and then announced to the table, “I pee on the pot!”

The table burst out laughing--all except Hermione who groaned, “We don’t talk about that at dinner, Roni.”

“I need to pee on the pot,” she said, finally pulling away from her grandmother. “Now, Mummy!”

“Sorry,” Hermione said, pulling a face as she stood up.  “I better take her to the loo.”

Ron was still laughing as Hermione helped Roni out of her chair and led her out of the dining room in Charlie’s tent. 

“You said Roni’s big for peeing on the pot,” Roni said to her mother and Ron noticed that like most of his family, his daughter’s voice carried loudly.

“You are big.  I’m very proud of you for peeing on the pot—But, it’s not polite to talk about it at dinner,” Hermione said as they rounded the corner.

“Why?”

“Because it just isn’t.”

“Why?”

“Veronica, do you need to go pee or not?”  Hermione sniffed, sounding flustered in the hallway. 

“Not.”

“You’re going.  We’ve already gotten up.”

“I want to see Daddy.”

“He’ll be there when we get back.”

“Mummy?”

“Hmm.”

“It’s okay if he eats my tart.”

“I know, lovey, you’re a sweet girl.”

“I pee on the pot.”

“Not if we keep standing in this hallway, you don’t.  Now come on before they miss you.”

Ron smiled to himself, oblivious to the rest of the table’s uncomfortable silence as he listened to the conversation.  “She’s great, isn’t she?” he said, turning his attention back to his family when he heard Hermione and Roni enter the bathroom. 

“Yeah, Ron, she is,” George said, grinning at him.  “You okay?”

“Great!”  Ron said enthusiastically, wondering why they would think anything different.  The war was over.  He was free, alive, surrounded by his family, and bursting with joy and pride over the beautiful little girl Hermione had gifted him with.  “She’s brilliant.  None of your lads were talking like that at two.  She’s a genius like her mum—the real deal.”

“Girls talk sooner,” Ginny said, before her voice softened.  “We didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable about the teasing issue.  We’re all dealing with it differently, your, um—experience.  We just don’t want to upset you.  We’re still at a loss, I’m afraid.”

“I reckon you’ll figure it out,” Ron said, looking back down the hallway, waiting for Hermione and Roni to return.

Fred laughed.  “That’s a boy in love.  He didn’t hear a word you said, Gin. He’s got eyes and ears for only one redheaded Weasley female and sure isn’t you.”

“Huh?”  Ron asked, turning back to them when a few others chuckled. 

That caused the whole table to burst out laughing.  His father gave him a broad grin, his eyes suspiciously bright.  “I do understand, Ronnie.  There’s something real special about a daughter,” Arthur said, and then turned to look at Ginny with the same bright, glowing eyes.  “Every dad needs one little girl to dote on.”

Ginny gave her father an impish grin while the men at the table snorted and grumbled.  “Gee, thanks, Dad.  Nice to know we’re loved,” Bill said, shaking his head. 

“Lord knows Lavender wishes I had a little girl to dote on,” George said and then sighed.  “She’s wants a daughter in the worst way.”

“Angelina too,” Fred added.  “But, I don’t think she’s willing to put up with six Weasley boys to get one.  Three have her pulling her hair out.”

“Now that the war’s over, Danielle wants to try for one,” Bill added and then shrugged.  “She figures three times the charm.”

“Well, I think Roni needs at least one girl cousin,” Molly said, looking around the table.  “The war is over--It would be nice to have more grandbabies.”

“Don’t you have enough, woman?”  Fred asked her.  “The Burrow is a mad house when we all get together.”

“It was always a mad house,” Ron said, smiling nostalgically.  “You wouldn’t believe how much I missed the insanity.  I used to lay awake at night and remember all the noise and chaos.  Sometimes it was the only way I could finally get comfortable enough to sleep.”

The table was silent for a bit before Ginny sniffed and said, “The Burrow missed you too.  It wasn’t right when you left, you left a gapping hole in the chaos.  It’s missed you and Percy immensely.”

“Thanks, Gin,” Ron said, reaching across the table to squeeze his sister’s outstretched hand.  “I’m not as chaotic as I used to be, though.”

“But, you’re getting there,” George said, reaching over to put his hand on top of Ron and Ginny’s.  “I can tell.”

“Yeah, we’ll have you Weasley-mad in no time,” Fred added, placing his hand on top of the pile. 

Charlie walked over, nudging Fred and George as he wormed his way between them and placed his hand on top of the growing pile.  “If anyone can make you mad, it’s these two.”

Bill’s hand was next.  “That little girl will keep you on your toes.”

By the time Hermione returned, all the Weasley’s were sitting awkwardly around the table, their hands piled one on top of another, grinning manically, even Molly, who’s eyes were brimming with happy tears. She had two hands in the pile, one for herself, and one for Percy, who she had announced was surely with them in spirit.

“I see we missed something,” Hermione said, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“I wanna play,” Roni said, running up to the table and jumping on Ron’s lap.  She placed her small hand on top of the pile and enthusiastically announced, “I won!”

“I think you did, Sweet,” Molly told her.  “More than you know.”


End file.
